


Scythe Matters

by orphan_account



Series: One Boy In All The World [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Break Up, Buffy AU, Derek Has Issues, F/M, M/M, Stiles Saves The Day, Stiles-centric, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is too busy twirling his new fiery red scythe antagonizing the werewolves to listen to Deaton's long and boring history speech. Stiles hums in awe doing a few more over dramatic swirls, chopping and slicing at invisible figures. "Seriously though, I think I’m in love." </p><p>Next to him Derek growls irritably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scythe Matters

Sleep doesn’t come easily to Stiles that night and for once it isn’t about horrendous nightmares or the aftermath of a steamy sex dream involving Johnny Damon. Mostly he hangs with the now-single Scott who spends most of his time pining for Allison and he can’t spend time with the pack well because apart from the sudden disappearance of Boyd and Erica only to discover a rapid werewolf driven half insane, the mystery appearance of Cora Hale and Erica’s body, the pack are being tight and that means there is less room for humans, guilt-ridden hunters and confused vampire slayers.  

 

But apart from playing video games and attempting to stay on top of his homework nothing particularly exciting is happening on the slayer side of things. 

 

He’s taking the whole slayer being alone thing to a bit of an extreme not seeing Scott as much as he use to, in fact it’s Lydia he has most of his classes with and if he’s not with her he’s training with Deaton and when he’s not doing that he’s on his own. It doesn’t bother him at all but he supposes that’s the problem.

 

He’s patrolling much more, every night in fact. Sometimes even after he’s done a sweep he’ll find himself going back a few hours later when he should be asleep just to get in a few more kills.

 

Yet it doesn’t feel like ‘another day on the job’ when he’s doing it now, not anymore. There’s something much more intense about it, darker more of a primal feeling than anything else.

 

It’s that primal need that makes a restless Stiles toss and turn in his bed. Instead of staying there, counting sheep and getting sleep like he should be when he has to get up in a few hours for school Stiles’s slips on some pants and grabs his denim jacket and a stake, climbing out through the window.

 

It feels good to run with the wind in his hair, which is much longer because he hasn’t really been paying it much attention. It feels less like patrolling right now as he runs after his prey; it feels like he’s tracking something like a predator. He likes the feeling of his heavy breathing as he runs, his legs moving fast and starting to burn, him forcing the muscles to go faster as his feet hit uneven ground, his arms thrusting forward and back in time with his leg movements, to get just a bit faster.  

 

He throws himself at his prey at the opium opportunity, using a worn down gravestone to give him the height slam onto his prey’s shoulders knocking them both to the ground. He is on his feet in a second while the other is still in the process of doing the same. He manages a hard kick the face of his competitor and it staggers back with a snarl, attempting to punch and swipe at Stiles. He, Stiles finally realizes, with his hair and clothes that belong back in the 90s rolls, his yellow eyes gleaming and vampire fangs sharp and ready to kill dances round waiting for Stiles to makes a move.

 

He does sweeping his leg low to knock the vampire over, grabbing his stake from his back pocket while his prey is distracted. It feels better with just a stake, cleaner more dangerous, he even enjoys the occasionally bare handed kill, the buzz he gets when he feels his strength running through him snapping a vampire’s neck with only his hands.

 

The vampire is still on his knees snarling up at Stiles but before his prey can move Stiles cartwheels his feet hitting the vampire as they come down causing him to tumble till he’s flat on his back, open and vulnerable. With great satisfaction Stiles thrust his stake into the heart of his prize.

 

Stiles allows himself a moment to feel the pride and satisfaction of his kill, which feeds his restlessness. He gives a quiet and shallow euphoric gasp of breath and then a small smile before he glancing around the empty graveyard. Seeing no more potential kills Stiles strides off into the night, satisfied for now, unknown to him that a dark presence watches his every move.  

 

He’s back in bed before he knows it, snuggling into the sheets like nothing happened. Now he can get some sleep.  

 

 

-

 

 

That day Stiles trains with Deaton the two hours before school, his dad’s completely clueless about the whole thing he’s either up too early for work to bother Stiles or he wakes to an empty house figuring that Stiles is enthusiastic to get to school.

 

“You’re getting softer on your left overhand.” Deaton comments as he blocks Stiles’s punch with a hand pad. Stiles retaliates with a hard punch, which has Deaton wincing with the blow, he punctuates it with an outside crescent kick, fanning his leg high meeting the pad.

 

Twenty minutes later results in a sweaty and dehydrated Stiles and an exhausted and achy Deaton though he’d never let on about either. “We certainly don’t need to work on your flexibility.”  

 

Stiles raises an eyebrow gulping down a load of water. “Why Deaton I never knew you thought of me that way.”

 

Deaton ignores him obviously busy preparing for opening. “And the patrol last night?” He inquires not looking up from the papers that are holding most of his attention therefore Stiles can get away with a half-assed answer. “Demon activity minimal since the dogs were let out. The vampire populous is still pretty high but the oldest being thirty in vampire years, which is basically like a five year old in human years.” Stiles attempts to stifle a yawn failing miserably, “all in all no issues.”

 

Deaton makes a distant _hmm_ not looking up from his paper work. So Stiles decides to not mention the whole going out for a second patrol after midnight to get a few more slays in. Deaton will just give him that disapproving look and lecture him about balancing slayer duties and school work which Stiles is so not up for hearing right now.

 

“Anymore causalities?” Deaton doesn’t like to call them sacrifices and Stiles figures it since he respects the dead a lot more than Stiles does.

 

“I patrolled round the previous places nothing as of yet.”   

 

“And the Alpha pack?”

 

That’s the tricky question, which has Stiles eyes trained on the floor admiring the hideous condition of his sneakers. “Not my business.” Stiles snipes not meeting his watcher’s gaze who has abandoned his paper work and now all his attention is back on his charge. Derek had made it very clear of what he thought about Stiles getting involved in pack business and Scott though had argued saying Derek was going to get them all killed had silently agreed and Stiles isn’t sure which is worse.

 

Deaton opens his mouth no doubt to say something about destiny and the forces of darkness but Stiles interrupts. “Don’t you have Scott playing Devil’s advocate?”

 

It’s a low blow, ever since Gerard Argent Deaton has been taking Scott under his wing helping with subtle advice pushing him to lead. Stiles can’t help but think, it’s too soon that he’s not ready, that Scott needs to learn to be a proper warrior before he can be leader, he need know the sacrifices that need to be made and that mercy isn’t always the right call. Stiles has grown this summer to, slowly but surely he’s drifted away from his friends, they’ve drifted to, the Alpha pack and this mysterious druid occupying most of all their time.

 

And Stiles well he’s wandering to; both physically and mentally sometimes he need to catch himself. Maybe helping Scott is Deaton’s way of dealing with the silent acknowledgement that Stiles’s has needed to come to him less and less. In all honesty apart from the occasionally training session it feels like Deaton hasn’t been his Watcher in a while.      

 

Deaton crosses his arms looking at Stiles for a moment like he’s trying to read underneath but Stiles has faced Alpha werewolves, tentacle monsters and those freaky parasite demons that tried to possess him that one time so he doesn’t give an inch. “You could talk to Derek.” Deaton says but it doesn’t remotely sound like a suggestion.

 

No that is absolutely the last thing Stiles wants to do, he hasn’t seen the leather-wearing psychopath since school began and that was all kinds of awkward after they hadn’t exactly left things on good terms.

 

Stiles grabs his bag, outside it began to rain all kinds of domestic pets and if he runs fast he can make it just before final bell. “Why don’t you get Scott to play messenger, I’m too busy being the slayer.”

 

“Stiles.” Deaton calls before Stiles can make his exit. “Be careful.”

 

Stiles pauses for a moment and considers assuring Deaton he always is, but these days it is becoming true less and less.

 

 

-

 

 

Stiles is not so subtly snoozing on his desk in English class, kitten snores and drooling to go with it. Scott is sitting behind and is in prime position to kick Stiles if he needs sudden rousing. Stiles is pretty sure Greenberg is paying more attention than him and Stiles blames the boring syllabus they have to do in class that makes Stiles want to snooze. 

 

There’s only so much sleep depravation he can take even with special slayer powers that allow him to function with less sleep and nutriment than should be humanly possible. Even Scott is staring to notice the unnaturally pale skin and dark shadows under his eyes and Stiles is really getting irritated assuring every person that asks – mostly Lydia who puts it as gross – yes he’s feeling fine and he is eating (though the second might be a bit a white lie).  

 

Besides he’s dealing with at lot more above his maturity level.

 

 _“Stiles.”_ A sharp voice snaps that has him starting awake ready to apologies profusely and answer whatever question he’s missed.

 

Only he’s not met by a class full of teenagers not bothering to stifle their sniggers and an angry looking teacher. Instead it’s completely empty. Deserted, not a soul.

 

He looks up at the clock thinking maybe he slept past four and someone left him either out of sympathy or for a joke. But he frowns seeing the clock reads nine  though outside it’s still light he shouldn’t be in a class at this time.

 

The corridor is just as deserted and even when Stiles calls out no one turns up. This is starting to get really freaky, almost as freaky as that one demon who made the who town burst into full musical number during high pressure situations.

 

“You lost little boy?” Stiles snaps round at hearing the male voice with a heavy southern accent only to be met with the most bewildering site.

 

Stiles is met with the sight of a priest arms crossed leaning back on the lockers munching on what looks like an apple. Either Stiles seriously needs to come up with better dream material or a demon has thought disguising themselves as a priest isn’t at all suspicious. Stiles has never went to a RE class in his life and the few times him and his dad went to church stopped after his mum died, so he has no idea how to start a conversation.

 

“Who are you?” Stiles asks, good, safe he doubts he’ll get an answer but it’s a good conversation started for the potentially evil, gives them an excuse to brag and be all they’re pseudo genius. 

 

The Priest pushes himself off the lockers throwing his apple pip down the hall at an impressive distance. “My name ain’t important, you’re the shinnin’ star here, no need to know anything else.”

 

“Funny how it never works out that way.” Stiles replies already clenching his fist releasing at the feeling of knuckles cracking. “You lose you’re way to Kansas because sorry last I looked I didn’t own a pair of ruby shoes.”

 

The Priest chuckles it sounds both unhinged and comical. “They said you were quick.”

 

“Yes well,” Stiles allows himself to relax, crossing his arms raising his chin to meet the Priest’s gaze not flinching a bit, the standard slayer persona really. “They talk a lot.”  

 

He starts to move; his shiny black shoes squeak and creak every time he takes a slow step and Stiles follows the moment moving so he can face him head on if he makes a move. “I’m impressed that one so young as yourself has built such a reputation.” He swirls round on the toe of his shoe to face Stiles his heels clicking together as he does. For a moment Stiles is reminded of an army commander patrolling up and down the ranks of his troops, each step measured and fluid, meant to throw Stiles off. “You remind me a lot of the Slayer in ’82,” he gives a skin-crawling smile, “of course it’s quite impossible for you to know her, ain’t it?”  

 

He starts walking again continuing his speech. “But then she was older than yourself, more experienced, better with a sword,” a beat “however she cried big crocodile tears in the end, didn’t give me the satisfaction of a scream but her eyes screwed tight shut so I didn’t see how afraid she was but I knew it.”

 

“You killed her.” Stiles states proud of how his voice doesn’t shake.

 

“That I did, darling,” he says voice smooth. “I got two slayer to my name.” He says sounding immensely proud of himself and it makes Stiles sick.

 

His eyes are dark and grueling as he steps forward into the light and when did it get dark Stiles suddenly realizes. “But you’re going to be different I can tell, more of a challenge.”

 

Stiles keeps his head raised like it’s not affecting him. “What makes you think you’re worth my time?” He doesn’t look like the type that could take over the world, minimal threat just a thug looking for a challenge. But he has to be dangerous if he’s killed two slayers.

 

“Because I have something you want.” He says smooth and all charm and Stiles could see how it would attractive with out the whole serial killer vibe. “Something you need,” The priest continues “if you’re going to save you’re friends.”

 

“And if I go get my friends?” Stiles says, “What then? I’m pretty sure you’d be werewolf chow.”

 

He looks so sure of himself all off a sudden it makes Stiles nervous. “Because this ain’t their fight, they’re too busy dealing with a band of overconfident mongrels.”  He moves close now, almost into Stiles personal space but Stiles is rooted to the spot for a freighting moment he can barely breath. “You want this to be your fight. I’ve seen you driftin’ away like vagabond you won’t go to anyone else. Besides how do you think I got the other two?”

 

Stiles takes a deep breath in then out his heart isn’t exactly beating out of his chest but he can’t help the spike of fear he gets. “All alone they were but I suppose that’s true for every slayer, but them their watchers’ didn’t even know till they found their bodies beaten and broken.”

 

Stiles breathing stutters and he knows the priest has caught it. He wonders how long it would take Deaton to find a week, a month, a year. He wonders if the pack would notice, maybe they’d wait till the last possible second, far too busy with the Alpha pack and the darach. When they found him would they care? And what would they tell his dad? He’d just disappear, one of those small town kids who stupidly followed a stranger and got himself killed. Then his name would be written down in some Watcher’s journal or record, just another slayer to add to the pile, another screw-up to learn from.

 

Stiles inwardly shakes himself getting back in the game. “You sound sure of yourself.” But the mocking tone is all-false loaded with fear and anger.

 

“Well of course I am,” they priest drawls, “a being like you above all that human law holy moly you’re even above the supernatural law of this little town.” Stiles is suddenly struck by how much taller the man is than him, towering over him and Stiles can do nothing but raise his head and meet the man’s eyes, for the first time in a long time he feels powerless and he hates it. “You’re not some arrogant puppy fighting over territory, trying to play god to race of mangy brats.”

 

Stiles has to agree with that he’s also not the kind of pompous ass who names himself after Greek mythological characters.  

 

“Who are you?” Stiles finds himself asking again and this time the Priest answers.

 

“The name’s Caleb and don’t bother trying to look it in one of your watcher’s journals.”

 

Stiles tries his best to remain calm. “Not reached that level of fame.”

 

“My choice sweetheart.” The pet name sounds filthy and slimy coming from his mouth. For the first time he reaches out towards Stiles and instead of snapping the bastard’s wrist Stiles hands seem to be suck at his sides as the man strokes his cheek. “But it will be inevitable when I kill the first male slayer.”

 

Suddenly Caleb moves his hand wrapping it round Stiles’s neck in an uncomfortable. It’s then at the uncomfortable grip that Stiles arms begin to work. But even as his fingers try to pry at Caleb’s hold to no avail he can feel the uncomfortable pressure on his windpipe get tighter. He chokes, trying to gasp in air, work through the burn in his throat, it’s like he’s drowning all over again, completely powerless to stop it.

 

Still with a firm grip on his neck Caleb hushes him like a child, his other hand stroking Stiles’s hair like he’s consoling him. Slowly but surely Stiles’s movement get slower and more sluggish, in his ear he can hear Caleb’s voice: “Alright now, I’m going to give you just what you want.” His hand leaves Stiles’s hair, and with sickening realization Stiles knows what’s going to happen next. The last thing he hears is Caleb’s voice soft and soothing “I’m going to give you just the thing.”

 

There’s a release of pressure on Stiles’s throat but he never gets to feel it before Caleb is snapping his neck with a sickening and loud crack.

 

The next thing Stiles knows he jackknifing up from his desk particularly falling out his chair, gasping for air desperately. He’s met with the sight of giggling classmates and an irritated Ms Blake, a sight that he would be happy to see if he wasn’t completely occupied with the feeling of the very real burn in his throat right down to his lungs and his neck feels like he’s turned it to the side to quick except maybe a hundred times worse.

 

He’s stumbling out of his seat not even bothering to ask permission to leave, the room’s spinning and he catches a glimpse of Scott, Lydia, Isaac and Allison’s worried expressions, Ms Blake’s expression turning from irritation to concern, problems he can deal with later.

 

He stumbles out of the classroom only just making it to a toilet before he’s retching, vomiting the little he’d eaten of the cafeteria meat loaf.

 

The ice cold water on his face gives him clarity but he only gets a minute of piece before he meets his reflection in the mirror fighting down a scream as he seeing the big purple finger shaped bruises clearly visible on his neck. He staggers out the toilet, hood up at least hiding the marks. He’s aiming for the door pushing though the crowd of students who are now exiting their classes.

 

At the feeling of a hand on his shoulder Stiles reacts on instinct forcefully pushing the assailant into the lockers his hand around their neck. “Try it.” He snaps harshly ready for anything.

 

He’s only met with the wide and frightened eyes of Danny and Stiles backs off immediately. Several people around them have gone quiet and are now openly staring.

 

“S-sorry,” Stiles stutters out moving back his eyes not meeting Danny’s as the boy touches his own neck eyes wide. “I-I.” He doesn’t bother saying anything else; more people are stopping and beginning to take notice of the scene and the dent in the lockers where Stiles pushed Danny, one of the alpha twins pushing through the crowd towards them.

 

Stiles pushes past the spectators going into a full sprint when he gets out of the crowd, crashing out the doors and into the blinding daylight. He doesn’t stop running in till the high school is far behind him.     

 

 

-

 

 

In between desperate analysis of the watcher’s journals and going over funeral plans for maybe the fourteenth time so far this month, Stiles is attempting to stay on top of every other thing in his life without going completely insane. Which proves to be extremely difficult with all the crazy plots going on in Beacon Hills, which he’s kind of meant to be a minimal part of. When he’s not trying to chase up the murders and some how linking them to the sudden appearance of Lord Voldemort he’s worrying about his own problems.

 

The watcher’s journals turn out to be a bust just like Caleb said they would and if there isn’t any watcher’s council records Stiles doubts Deaton will be able to shed any light on the situation. 

 

He’s desperate that’s how he justifies what he does next; there’s nowhere else he can really turn. He thinks about going to the Argents’ but they are out of commission plus he wouldn’t put Allison and her father through more compared to what they’re already going through.

 

So he goes to the last person he can in this town who knows anything about slayers, and _fuck_ is he really going to regret this.

 

Peter Hale is the kind of person who is always permanently smug to the point of anyone wanting to punch him in the face whenever they have to look at him along with the fact he swaggers around like there’s a catchy rock tune following him everywhere.

 

And yes Stiles will admit it he’d have to be blind or something wrong with optic nerve to not see that Peter is very attractive (he is part of the Hale family after all and the appearance of Cora Hale has only enforced that theory). But Stiles hates the man and contrary to popular belief there is not a thin line between love and hate.

 

So when Peter answers the door with a “To what do I owe the pleasure of this random but no less welcome visit?”

 

Stiles just barges past him not waiting for a invitation giving off every subtle and non-subtle sign known to man about him so not wanting to be here and how this is the very last resort.  

 

The apartment is very surprisingly normal, no sacrificial lamb or corpses hanging from the rafters, the air conditioning is non-existent so it is uncomfortablly stuffy.  

 

“I thought you’d have more dead bodies lying around with the odd concubine thrown in.” Stiles comments, in truth Peter’s apartment lacks about as much decoration as Derek’s loft. What is it with werewolves and interior decorating?

 

“Not really my style.” Peter says suddenly very close and Stiles snaps round putting some distance between them. Peter watches him carefully, “if you’re here for another round I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait a few weeks till I’m up to par,” he glances around the room “but if you’re looking for friendly hospitality you’ve come to the wrong place.”

 

Stiles looks round frowning at the non-existent kitchen with only a mini fridge. That rules out the chance of a beer then that would certainly make this experience a whole lot more bearable.    

 

“I’m not here for your attempt at social normality.” Stiles crosses his arms giving off the best hard-ass slash I am the slayer and can kick your ass with my hands tied behind my back vibe. “You said you knew slayers,” he says watching as Peter’s frowns bemused, “what did you mean.” He demands proud of how he makes it sound like more of an interrogation than a question. You don’t date Derek Hale without the guy rubbing off on you (Stiles also kind of wishes it had gone vice versa because then maybe he wouldn’t have ended up with a broken heart).

 

Peter goes to sit on his leather couch; he at least has one of those. “And if I don’t tell you.”

 

Stiles is kind of glad he asked because then he’s able to throw his knife in the convenient space that Peter has provided between his legs just below his groin. Peter glances down, raising an eyebrow at Stiles.

 

“Deaton made a very interesting discovery about mistletoe,” Stiles says as he saunters over to where Peter is sitting, watching for any flash of emotion that isn’t smugness, “The metal is laced with it and I have a theory.” Stiles gets close enough to get a grip on the knife pulling it sharply out of the material, Peter is nothing but complacent and relaxed maybe even a bit amused but he’s a psychopath so go figure, his blue eyes are doing that freaky thing that they do when Stiles gets too close that make him want to crawl out from under his skin.

 

Stiles steps back glad to be at a distance, he doesn’t put the knife in his belt though, keeps it in his hand in case Peter gets cocky. “Don’t answer my questions, I test my theory.” Even if it is a bust Stiles could still easily take Peter full strength or no in hand-to-hand.   

 

Peter just watches Stiles for moment like he’s trying to figure something out or make him uneasy Stiles is unsure. “Isn’t it obvious?” Peter drawls.

 

 _Not to me_ Stiles wants to say but he refrains.

 

“I killed one.” Peter states in the way some one would when talking about the weather.

 

It does anger Stiles to hear but he’s not here to go all Hulk on Peter’s ass maybe when he doesn’t have so much on his plate but for now he doesn’t let it show. “How?” He asks.

 

This interests Peter a lot and he leans forward resting his forearms on his thighs, looking at Stiles with an intensity that is painful because no matter how different Derek and Peter are Stiles can’t help but see the occasional similarity. “That’s not usually the question people ask.”

 

Stiles allows the edge of his knife to catch the light.

 

Peter leans back with a sigh, contemplating his answer, his hands clasped behind his head in a relaxed pose. “Let’s see,” he begins “It was two years after the fire, I was alive in and out of a catatonic state, healing albeit slowly but it was enough.”

 

Enough to kill a slayer he means, Stiles’s grip tightens on his knife.

 

“And she was there,” Peter says as if reminiscing about old times, “couldn’t be a day over twenty-two, college graduate, steady boyfriend probably her whole life ahead of her.” He sighs glancing at Stiles with a leer fully aware of the affect the conversation is having on him. ”She wasn’t remotely as well trained as yourself in the fighting werewolf area, it was tough though, I’ll give her that. But in the end I got her.”

 

Stiles grits his teeth biting at his tongue. “But if it’s specifics you want,” Peter continues “it was never about the moves she pulled, it was the fact she was complacent, sloppy, distracted. To focused on the normal life she had, that’s what killed her.” 

 

Stiles turns away, that is not what he wants to hear. “So in you’re opinion a slayer must relentless and rigorous like something fresh out of military camp to stay alive?” Stiles says snarkily. 

 

“As far as I know no slayer has died of natural causes,” Peter replies “Nor have they ever succeed in that respect you are living proof of that after all.”

 

Stiles moves across the space till he’s near what looks like was once a window that could be seen through. Between the dirt and dust he has a glimpse of a dark alley below, this isn’t exactly a nice part of town it is even worse after dark. “You think I need to loose the Bruce Wayne and become only Batman.” Stiles states.

 

“That’s one way of putting it yes.” Peter says slowly.  

 

Stiles bites his lip, but that’s exactly what Caleb wants, for Stiles to play right into his hands, alone with no one there to help if things go south.   

 

“He made the right call.” Peter says suddenly, gladly his voice still comes from the same spot.

 

“What?” Stiles asks bewildered.

 

“Derek.” Peter says clicking his tongue extra hard on the ‘k’.

 

Stiles is reduced to a romantic movie cliché when he winces at hearing the name. “What are you talking about?” Stiles asks, thinking that maybe Peter is talking about some new alpha pack strategy that Scott has of yet to fill him in about.

 

“Breaking up with you.” He says with a half-shrug.

 

Stiles’s mouth drops open in shock.

 

“For reference sake, Scott has a big mouth.” Peter interjects.

 

Stiles’s brain skips from the _how_ to _what the actual fuck?_  

 

“I did tell you it was a bad idea, by the way.”

 

“I don’t remember asking for your fucking opinion.” Stiles hisses seriously debating using his knife to chop Peter’s dick off, because it would bring him much pleasure seeing him attempt to heal from that one.

 

Peter raises his hands in surrender but that does nothing to cool Stiles’s anger. He’s fucking pissed off and Peter is the nearest and most likely person he’ll take his anger out on. But he stays rooted to the spot, leaning back breathing calmly. Peter isn’t even worth the time he tells himself.    

 

“You have to understand,” Peter starts “Derek has been taught strength in numbers, if you’re pack falls through you build another. Any werewolf would do the same.” The he indicates to Stiles, “but then the one thing comes along that defies all that, something that goes against his very instinct.”

 

“What are you saying?” Stiles snaps.

 

Peter smirks, “you’re a slayer Stiles, not exactly a team player, certainly not werewolf material. Even a human can be considered pack something Scott has proven many times. But you,” he says and he’s got brave enough to move from his sanctuary slowly advancing towards Stiles. “Your destiny is to always fight and when you do it, you do it alone. That’s why you’ll never be pack Stiles and it’s also why Derek can’t be with you.”

 

Stiles lets the statement wash over him, refusing to break down in front of Peter but he can’t help if he gets a bit glassy eyes and really fucking angry. He sort of wished we knew all this before he gave Derek his body, heart and soul.

 

“So I’m just meant to lay back and accept that?” Stiles is suddenly shouting “I’m meant to have no life in the short one I’m going have?”

 

“Why do you think you’ve lasted this long?” Peter says and he’s close but Stiles doesn’t even bother to push him away to lost in what he’s saying. “You’ve got the father, the best friend and the rest of the gang, they tie you here, stop you from wandering into unknown situations and getting yourself killed.”

 

Stiles shakes his head, a bitter chuckle sounding from him. “Then why bother with all this? I’m the most dispensable person here; in fact I’m pretty sure I’m made to not live past my eighteenth birthday. So why not throw myself into a situation with minimally survival chances and a room full of Alpha werewolves I know for a fact I’ll get killed but I’ll sure as hell take a few of them with me.” 

 

Peter thinks about it for a second. “The idea has merit but this isn’t you’re fight.”

 

Stiles doesn’t get it, he’s meant to be fighting against evil but then he remembers what Caleb said about the Alpha pack being a bunch of wussies fighting over territory. “Last I looked you weren’t exactly part of the club either.” Stiles fires back annoyed that it only seems to make Peter happier.

 

“Something you and I share.” And he has that look on his face that Stiles definitely doesn’t want to analyze.

 

“You’d love to think that’s true.”

 

Stiles decides to put an end to this conversation moving past Peter to the door getting no resistance. He can feel himself tearing, fraying at the edges till he breaks. He’s trying hard to keep it together for his own sake and other people’s but there’s something in the back of his mind that wants him to have that moment of human selfishness and everything else be damned.

 

“It’s going to happen one day.” Peter assures him form his spot, Stiles turns slightly to see Peter everything around him shrouded in darkness only his figure is visible under the crappy light and it’s like something out of a horror film and Stiles half expects the lights to start flickering. “And when that day comes that’s when I’ll slip in, you’ll never see it coming, just like her.” He looks truly deranged now, still the same smug qualities but more like the charred corpse whose throat Derek slashed. “And when I do, you’re going to want it.” The repetition of the words shake Stiles to the core.

 

Instead he faces Peter head on arms crossed. “Say you’re right,” Stiles says “one day it will happen, but it’s not going to be you Peter. It will never be you.”

 

With that he turns on his heels slamming the door behind him.  

 

 

-

 

 

That night after a three hour patrol Stiles dreams for the first time in a long while.

 

He dreams of desert, of the feel of sand between his toes and the smell of burning wood. Of rocks, desert bush and dried up waterholes.

 

The girl crouches in front of him, never staying still, back always curled like she doesn’t know how to stand straight. Her head moves with the desert breeze and Stiles can do nothing but look into the endless black of her eyes.

 

Her hair is dark and matted in dreadlocks the dark skin of her face covered in white paint, her eyes framed by wide circles of pitch black. It’s like looking at a skull.    

 

She doesn’t speak at first but when she does it comes out as a rasp of disuse, a soft hiss with a word that seems to be branded in Stiles’s mind.

 

_“Alone.”_

(It’s how you live and how you’ll die.)

 

 

-

 

 

The last thing Stiles is expecting when he finishes school that day is to be greeted with the sight of Derek arms crossed leaning against his car looking very much like a modern day James Dean with an anti hero complex. It’s frustrating because Stiles has been doing so well up till now, unless you count that tiny little hiccup when they all thought Derek was dead you know the little things.

 

Derek as the norm of Derek Hale has that pissed off look on his face and Stiles misses the other expressions he was graced with in the fleeting three months they were together. But he makes do with this because he rather this than not see Derek’s stupid face at all, though he hates to admit it.

 

Most of his nights have now been spent either patrolling, having cryptic dreams or desperate with paranoia that Caleb will turn up so excuse Stiles if he’s less than welcome towards Derek. The alpha can probably smell the sleep depravation on him but Derek pretty much has a 24/7 “I don’t give a shit” policy and it works well for him.

 

Derek doesn’t care about Stiles problems and he shouldn’t his are after all top priority. Stiles is sorely temped to tell him to fuck off but that would result in Derek being more of a pain in the ass, so he decides to take the bull by the horns or the werewolf in this case just without the horns thing. Maybe claws or teeth but neither looks like a very fun scenario.

 

“What do you want?” Stiles says in a nice polite fashion.

 

Derek’s doing that thing where he’s unaffectedly trying to use his eyes as lasers.

 

Stiles’s grip tightens where his bag is slung over his shoulder. “This is usually the part where you say something, I say something you know, a conversation.” Though that is a foreign concept to Derek.

 

“I need your help.” Derek says with great difficulty teeth gritting slightly.

 

“I thought I was redundant in your little wolf civil war?” Stiles doesn’t like this, he’d much prefer it in a more neutral setting where he isn’t standing awkwardly in front of Derek with every bit of him to see.

 

Derek sighs noisily and impatient. “I need someone that knows demons.” His eyes flicker away from Stiles for a moment like he’s deciding what to and not tell him. He settles on: “There’s a popular demon bar in San Francisco I need someone,” Derek’s eyes travel down “with a certain intimidation.”

 

Stiles buries down the spark of heat and old feelings. “Don’t you have a pack for that?”

 

Derek gives him his _don’t ask_ look except without exasperation it holds anger with the promise of violence. “I need something more discreet.”

 

“Stealthy?” Stiles says in disbelief, “sorry dude but you’ve come to the least stealthy slayer in history.” Deaton’s tried to train him better but has so far been unsuccessful.

 

Derek rolls his eyes in his usual annoyed fashion. “Well you’re the only one I’ve got.”

 

Stiles knows Derek only means it in his blunt, irritated mocking way (and maybe a tiny bit of resentment that Stiles is imagining) but he still can’t help but inwardly wince at the statement.

 

Stiles crosses his arms going into slayer mode. “And what do I get?”   

 

Derek mirrors Stiles’s position but still leans on the car but it is no less of a _challenge accepted._ “Peace and quiet.”

 

“Never mind,” Stiles sighs “I kind of like the idea of you owing me.”

 

“Great.” Derek deadpans.

 

 

-

 

 

By the time they get to the seediest demon bar in the history of the four Stiles has been to it’s deep into the night. Luckily it’s a Friday night and Stiles calls Melissa instead of Scott to cover for him. He doubts his dad will even notice what with being up to his neck in the sacrifice killings.

 

Although most of the demons are like something out of Doctor Who with the acceptation of vampires and human host bodies they’re actually met with little trouble. Derek in his dark clothes and leather jacket looking very serial killer slash demonic mass murderer. Stiles on the other hand may as well be holing a sign in neon flashing lights saying slayer. With the trademark tight pants, combat boots and denim jacket plus his own flare with a red hoodie it’s a wonder a bar brawl hasn’t broken out.        

 

“Here’s the thing scales,” Stiles drawls confidence oozing from every pore because he’s just in his element when he’s doing this, slaying that is and related slay business not slamming random demon’s faces onto bar tops. “One of your friends down town tells me you know the whereabouts of the Alpha pack.”

 

“The name’s Francoise,” lizard face whines “And I know nothing—” 

 

Stiles slams his face into the bar before he can finish his sentence. Derek raises his eyebrows clearly stating that they will need the demon conscious to get answers, but that there’s nothing wrong with a minor concussion.  

 

“I don’t know anything.” The demon says and Stiles’s grip tightens on the hold he has on his jacket collar. Francoise’s eye flicker to something over Stiles’s shoulder a smirk suddenly coming over his face. “But even if I did know I won’t tell a couple of flesh bags who are about to their spines ripped out through their—”

 

Stiles glances round just in time to see Derek grab a particularly wrinkly looking demon and rip his throat out in handful of black blood the whole time not turning his attention from Stiles and Francoise, his eyes blazing red and claws out leaving no doubt of the wrong “flesh bag” assumption. He’s got to admit Derek and him always made a good team.

 

Stiles turns back to see a petrified looking demon.

 

“Wait,” Francoise says suddenly “it’s coming back to me.”

 

“Of course it is.” Stiles mutters.

 

Though even after Derek gets his information they still have to end up fighting to get out of that damn bar. Apparently vampires only start bar tussles with the slayer after a quick committee and once they’ve finished their pitcher of cosmopolitans. The cocktail that is not the group of people that are sometimes described so.  

 

Their fighting styles are very different Derek’s all supernatural and wolf like with his flips and twists like a cross between a Chinese gymnast and Spiderman neither which he’d like to be compared to. Stiles is more practiced, even though Derek no doubt has training of his own Stiles has got a couple black belts in mixed martial arts to his name.

 

While Derek is all strength, teeth and claws squashing vampires’ left, right and center, Stiles rolls across the pool table grabbing a cue as he goes and stabbing it into the first vampire he meets and using it to batter the second in the face.

 

Derek seems to be on a roll and Stiles not wanting to have every bone in his body reduced to rubble like the vamps leaves him to his fun. One of the vampires has broken formation racing for the bar and attempting to find something on the high alcohol spectrum, lighter already in hand, which will no doubt be easy to find in a demon bar where there is no fire extinguisher.

 

Stiles takes off, hitting one vamp on the head with his cue as he goes, knocking it out and effectively shortening his cue. He slides across the bar top, the bartender looking surprisingly human balks at this momentarily forgetting all about his shotgun stashed a meter away. Stiles grabs the vampire before he can get his hands on any flammable liquid.

 

Just as Stiles uses his impressive slayer strength to flip the a hundred and sixty pound man onto the bar top stake raised bloody Mary style to dust him the fucker opens his mouth. “Wait – you’re going to want to hear what I have to say before you do that.” His voice is wheezy from nervousness and he’s sweating with it.

 

“Is this the part where you give me useless information in an attempt save you’re life, cause really dude one you’re practically dead already I’m just completing the process and two we all learnt this doesn’t go well from that one British gangster movie.”

 

The vamp looks at him utterly confused and Stiles suddenly realizes he’s dressed like something out of the bad part of the 70s and probably missed the genius of Guy Ritchie. 

 

“Caleb says hello.” The vampire snarls attempting to punch Stiles only to have half a pool cue rammed through his hand. Stiles barely here’s his cry in pain over the sound of blood pumping in his hear and the loud drumming on his heart, the voice inside his head confirming, _it wasn’t a dream it wasn’t a dream, it was real._ “He’s waiting,” the vampire, hisses quietly through clenched teeth “at the old vineyard outside of town.” 

Stiles shakes his head suddenly becoming a aware that Derek is no longer dealing with a pack of vampires and the bar has been completely vacated. Stiles forces his attention back on the vamp rather than his own anxiety pulling the cue out of the vampires’ hand. “And that’s meant to help you how?” Stiles says sarcastically before staking him.

 

Stiles wipes his hands on his pants to get the dust off trying hard not to look at Derek who is probably watching him intently waiting for an explanation, well screw him. 

 

“What was that?” Derek finally demands as they exit the bar walking down the dark, dingy alley street to get to Derek’s car.

 

“Nothing.” Stiles answers briskly hoping Derek will drop it.

 

Derek doesn’t. “That wasn’t nothing, you froze.” When Stiles keeps walking Derek grabs out to his shoulder it feels like it did the first couple of times, painful, full of irritation and _you’re just a kid, never trust anyone_ and Stiles jerks out of it.

 

Derek’s jaw is locked, teeth probably gritted, body language tense all yelling at Stiles that he’s not going to drop this. “It’s slayer business.”

 

Derek flinches at that and quickly replaces his face with a scowl and Stiles feels like throwing up his arms and saying _problem?_

“I figured since you can have werewolf business I can have mine.”

 

Derek’s scowl deepens. “So that’s what this about.” He states it like fact that is written in stone and Stiles’s feels the anger suddenly burst out of him.

 

“No it’s not,” he snaps “and before you go thinking I suddenly formed a guilt complex for dusting vamps you can rest assured.”

 

Derek crosses his arms, he left his leather jacket in the car and is sporting a well fitted grey shirt with the buttons undone around his neck and every so often all Stiles can think is muscles.  

 

Stiles isn’t so petty as to withhold important information to Derek just because he isn’t getting any in return (okay he is) and it’s not like his serial murder priest is going to be Derek’s or the pack’s problem.

 

Derek still looks like he wants to pretest and Stiles expects him to, he expects him to pick away at Stiles’s reserve till he cracks and blurts it all out, till he finally shoves at Derek and asks why he left him. He wants it he realizes he wants Derek to persist till Stiles tells him, he wants Derek to be the one to know what has been going on in Stiles’s head for the past several weeks and _god_ he really wants Derek to kiss him.

 

 _I am trying really hard to keep it together_ Stiles thinks, _because if I don’t people die._

But Derek never asks he just starts walking back to the car gravel crunching under foot and Stiles stares after not moving completely thrown out.

 

Stiles snaps.

 

“You know I didn’t choose this,” Stiles shouts at him “it chose me.” Derek stops turning half to look at him, only giving him half his attention it feels like. “But if I had to choose between destiny and you, I’d choose this every time.” Stiles swallows his voice suddenly weaker and he tries to imagine anything else than the cold indifference on Derek’s face, “so I’m sorry if that’s such a disappointment to you.” 

 

Derek only looks at him for one last second and it’s like he’s blank like he’s only looking at a spec of paint on the wall, it makes Stiles feel like he’s nothing. Derek turns away walking to his car not looking back once. Stiles just listens to his breathing as Derek slams the car door, starts the engine and drives off with an aggressive rev.

 

Stiles waits a few more seconds before going to his jeep. There was no way he could have sat through an hour car journey with Derek. He can’t get the key in the ignition because his hands are shaking so bad, he tries to take in deep breaths like his old therapist use to tell him but they come out shaky and more like sobs.

 

So much for the greater good, stupid morality.

 

He realizes later that he can’t leave things the way he did with Derek, so he ends up walking to his loft that night in an effort to make things better and maybe apologize. This turns out to be a big mistake.  

 

It’s not like the universe has put a set amount of time on when you should start dating again but Stiles would like to think that something longer than six weeks is at least respectable.

 

It’s kind of like some fairytale image the fair skinned maiden locked in an embrace with her rugged yet handsome prince, except instead it’s Stiles’s English teacher Ms Blake and his ex-boyfriend which a part from just plain wrong is sort of scarring to see in a heart breaking and fiery jealousy and anger sort of way.

 

Stiles is pretty sure he could announce his presence with a _what the fuck?_ But Romeo and Juliet are too engrossed in finding each other’s tonsils so Stiles slips away before Derek can pick up on his scent or his rapidly beating heart.

 

It hurt, worse than any blow Stiles has every received.

 

He’s not too sure how he get from Derek’s loft to some unknown back street in town that must be at least twenty minutes away because his brain has suddenly gone fuzzy. He’s not really sure what to think or even feel, well he knows full well what he’s suppose to feel but he’s waiting for the denial, jealousy and anger to come but all he feels is numb.

 

That’s probably why he doesn’t notice a group of vampires sneaking up on him.

 

“Slayer,” the ringleader addresses him, leather jacket too baggy for his frame, face mutated in vampire form, he’s got a scar on running across his left eye jagged and ugly, Stiles recognizes him from the bar. “You killed a few of my friends.”

 

Stiles glances around as the others gather closer another few behind him. “I prefer to see it as kicking some undead ass.” Something he’s about to preform multiple times tonight.

 

“Things were good before you came,” the ringleader bites then smirks which looks odd with his fangs sticking awkwardly making him look more like he’s missing his front teeth. “We’re going to make it the way it was.”

 

He advances his cronies following behind him but Stiles doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back away. “Walk away,” Stiles says trying to reason he can feel a new found strength coursing through him, the emotions he was looking for earlier finally starting to catch up with him. “You don’t want to do this, not now.” Not when he really knows he’ll fight with no mercy at all.

 

The ringleader advances and Stiles shoves him hard on the chest causing him to be thrown back. He turns taking care of the ones behind with punches and kicks when they attempt to attack him. One of the female vampires tries to grab him by the shoulder and Stiles punches her hard enough to send her flying.

 

Another one to the side grabs a long sharp double-ended wood stick, which would have once been a whole rafting. He attempts to stab at Stiles who in turn blocks him with his elbow using part of the weapon to come back and hit him in the face.

 

Stiles’s grips the wood hard enough to give himself splinters staking the first vampire he sees. Still they surround him getting ready to pounce him and Stiles stakes them all one after the other like the Whack-a-mole game except with vampires till there’s only one left.

 

He has the weapon at her throat ready to make a move and she just quivers in fear it’s the first time he’s seen any sort of human reaction like that out of a vampire. She would have been pretty once but now her face is twisted with a demon and Stiles for moment wonders how it happened.

 

He let’s her go, watches her as she runs down the alley to escape and then without a second thought throws the wood like a javelin piercing her right through.   

 

“Impressive.”

 

Stiles turns round sharply to see none other than Peter Hale leaning against the alley wall. “I suppose the term killer has never been more appropriate.”  

 

Round about now Stiles would have a witty retort on his tongue but not wanting to get sucked into one of Peter’s games instead turns on his heels and stalks away.

 

He hears the click of Peter’s shoes as he follows. “Get out of here Peter.” Stiles snaps not stopping in his quick pace.

 

A hand reaches out for Stiles’s elbow but instead grabs at air and Stiles turns hitting Peter with a hard elbow blow striking him across the face. 

 

Peter smiles with bloody teeth. “Trouble in paradise?” He mocks spitting out red, grinning like he knows exactly what has Stiles so upset.

 

“Get lost.” Stiles snaps again and one second Peter’s wiping the blood off his chin and the next his fist is punching Stiles squarely in the face. Stiles stumbles back a bit stunned and in pain, before he’s punching Peter blindly in retaliation. 

 

“You’re getting predictable Stiles,” Peter tsks and he easily blocks a punch aimed at his left cheek, Stiles’s resolve breaks at this point giving Peter the advantage using the chance to fling him against the alley wall. Stiles’s back comes into contact with the wall hearing it crumble a clear indication that he’s going to have bruises in the morning especially with Peter’s werewolf strength behind it.

 

He bites his lip, stifling his cries not giving Peter the satisfaction of hearing them. He’s thrown for a moment it doesn’t help one bit that his head is pulsing after coming into contact with a brick wall. Peter grabs Stiles by the shoulder his other hand coming to grip at where his shoulder meets his neck holding hard enough to form finger shaped bruises at his collarbone.

 

Peter uses his strength to pull Stiles back to him thrusting him back into the wall and this time Stiles feels and hear the crumble of rock, coughing as his inhales dust.       

 

Peter efficiently uses his legs to pin Stiles’s lower body to the wall and one of his fists come at him with force punching a hole in the wall right next to Stiles’s face.

 

Stiles finches, eyes shutting momentarily at the sight of Peter’s pseudo punch. “Back off,” Stiles grits out when he opens them again too see Peter’s sneer.

 

His back and ribs are aching as he pants vision blurring slightly though he can still make out the smirk on Peter’s face feel how close he is, taste his breath on his tongue. “What are gonna—?”

 

Stiles reacts, he not sure why he does it and later he’ll blame on the concussion he knows he doesn’t have or some sort of adrenaline rush. But that fact is it’s not, he’s not sure why he does it.

 

When Stiles kisses him, Peter only takes but a millisecond to react, slamming Stiles even further into the broken up wall. There is no chaste press of lips, that’s certainly not how Stiles opened it, it’s rough and harsh, all consuming type of a kiss that makes Stiles want to dig his nails into Peter’s back till he’s drawn blood, it makes him want shove Peter to the opposite side of the alley hear and feel as the opposite wall breaks till it crumbles.

 

Stiles’s has had his fair share of kisses but this is something different, it’s not passion that is based on love or even a affection, it’s a primal need and a want that sparks every part of Stiles’s body till he’s electrically charged. But it’s also a battle, the kind Stiles wants to win but only for his own need, its selfish and sharp, neither are below using their teeth or fists to strike out at one another. It feels good to cause pain and even better to feel it.

 

Peter feels out every inch of him leaving pain and pleasure in his wake and what’s even worse is Stiles wants it, he wants to feel the hurt, the pain, that animalistic need, to finally feel something other than numb and loneness.

 

One of Peter’s hands slam into the wall, the other moving to Stiles’s leg, hiking it up so it’s around his waist, slamming his hips into Stiles’s so he’s left with no doubt about Peter’s arousal and his own. Stiles’s pulls at Peter’s hair moaning at the feeling shooting up his spine. He uses his height to rise up over Peter, forcing all of his strength on the man wanting to make him buckle under the weight, wanting to make him fight for control.

 

Breathing is fast becoming an issue and with one final bite to Peter’s lower lip causing the man to grunt, Stiles wrenches his mouth away attempting to hide a moan when Peter forcefully rolls his hips in revenge. 

 

It’s then when Peter licks his way down Stiles’s jaw to the jugular of his neck; sucking hard he may as well be trying for blood that Stiles finds clarity. Because he knows what is going to happen next, it’s happened every time without fail when being in this position with another werewolf, he has the scar on his neck as a reminder. 

 

It’s then when he comes back to himself thinking _oh god, what the hell am I doing?_

 

His moves his leg free from where Peter had it trapped, kneeing the man in the groin hard. The other leg which, was locked around Peter’s waist kicks him in the stomach just about the time Stiles uses both hands to shove him away, catching himself on his feet.

 

He can’t let Peter turn on him; Stiles can’t look at his face after what they’ve just done. He cocks his fist back punching him hard before the werewolf can even register what’s happened.

 

Stiles doesn’t wait to see if he succeeded in knocking him out, he just takes off and runs, doesn’t stop for anything, he’s not even sure where he’s going he just keeps running in till he realizes he can’t escape what he’s done.

 

 

-

 

 

“It’s a bad idea.” Scott says through a mouth full of Cheetos “But Derek is shooting down practically all my suggestions.”

 

Stiles hums not paying the slightest bit of attention to Scott as he continues to talk. He is chewing of what use to be his thumbnail; Scott was halfway between mooning over Allison’s new haircut to Deaton’s latest impartment of wisdom and Stiles tries to rise above the jealousy when he’d zoned out.

 

“I mean what do you think?” Scott asks, they’re watching a Myth Busters’ episode where they trying to duplicate some action movie scene with a significantly lower budget, neither of them is really paying attention but Stiles is pretending to while lost in thought.

 

He’s not thinking about Caleb or Derek and Ms Blake, definitely not about Peter (seriously it has to be caused by a concussion or an adrenaline rush or freaking red kryptonite) but he is thinking.

 

“Not really for me to say.” He answers voice neutral but far away.

 

Scott elbows him in the side, which would probably have broken ribs if Stiles was not of the natural that is super. “Seriously what’s been with you lately?”

 

Stiles shrugs, “We live in a town that is slowly being taken over by werewolves, people keeping dying and no one knows why and we are still no closer to tracking down Merlin.” Stiles sighs running a hand through his shaggy hair causing it to be ruffled in every direction, he likes it like this he thinks maybe he’ll keep it this way. “Pick from a long list entitled _we are in way over our heads’._ ”  

 

“Things will work out.” Scott replies ever the optimist.

 

“Yeah, but what if they don’t?” Stiles counters every the pessimist. 

 

Scott just shrugs which is so very helpful.

 

 _“I have something you want.”_ Says Caleb’s smooth voice in Stiles’s ear as if he where in the room right now. _“Something you need if you’re going to save your friends.”_

It dawns on him then that he knows what he has to do if they have a shot at winning this thing. It’s just a bit of pity that Stiles’s only hope is riding on the word of a homicidal priest.

 

“Where are you going?” Scott says puppy eyes and all, orange powder on his lips from the Cheetos.

 

“There’s something I’ve got to do.” Stiles says vaguely and it’s hard but he meets Scott’s eyes steadily.   

 

“But you said you’d be on call tonight if something went wrong with the plan.” Scott and he only whines the tiniest bit but instead of rolling his eyes like a normal reaction Stiles inwardly smiles feeling all of a sudden nostalgic for something that could be over.

 

“I don’t think it would sit to well with Balto if I showed up to save your asses from pending doom.”

 

Scott rolls his eyes this time looking exasperated and Stiles takes it all in like it is his last. “Maybe towards the end but not during the actually doom par—hey!” Scott’s eyes narrow and Stiles is reminded of him as a kid giving his mother the same look when ever she did the embarrassing mum thing. “We actually cope pretty well.”

 

“Call me if the apocalypse is nigh.” Stiles says backing towards the door. “And hey, don’t die.”

 

Scott’s expression turns skeptical from his place on the couch. “You to.”

 

Stiles bites his lip giving Scott a wave as his face disappears behind the door. The night air is cool and Stiles is thankful for it, the sky decorated with stars, the moon shining high only a slither away from a full circle. “Can’t make any promises.” Stiles says to the night, then hurries on his way hands buried in his pockets before he can find out if Scott’s hearing works through doors.

 

The house is dark when he gets home, his dad obviously working late even though it’s a Saturday but town murders and all. Stiles supposes one of the many helpful things about his dad being the Sheriff is as the slayer he could get away with a lot. He goes to the kitchen first and microwaves a hot pocket and thinks bitterly about the last supper when he eats it.

 

He leaves his dad a note on the back of fridge says he’s going to be home late, he decides against adding the ‘possibly never’ part. He thinks about putting a kiss or something, some little thing just in case but he doesn’t.

 

When he gets to his room he stands in the doorway for alittle too long just looking. He grabs an old gym bag that use to belong to his mum and stuffs very weapon he has stashed here, every dagger, stake and bottle of holy water even Vera. It’s hard to zip up but he manages to fit everything in double-checking he hasn’t left anything.

 

He goes to his closet searching for anything he’s missed, fingertips reaching to the furthest corner for a stake that might be hiding when his fingers come in to contact with something smooth and cool.

 

He holds the leather in his hands tracing it with his fingertips. He thinks about ditching the denim jacket and wearing this instead like the good old days but instead takes in the smell of the scent that still lingers there.

 

He grabs the nearest post-it note and pen and writes something that should take a few minutes but ends up being like ten. It’s not suicide note nor is it a goodbye; it’s more an apology and a thank you. Then he slips it’s into the pocket hidden inside for the only other person who is aware of that compartment. Putting the leather jacket back in his closet, Stiles gives his room one last glance slinging the bag over his shoulder and heading out.

 

He gets to Deaton’s in less than twenty minutes the man works all kinds of crazy hours but Stiles doubts he’s here tonight. Luckily he has a spare key being Deaton’s watchee and all.

 

He means to be stealthy dump the weapons and get out but the second he tip-toes out there is a click of a switch and a light is turned out. “Gahh!” Stiles gives a very manly shout.     

 

Deaton sits behind his desk looking strangely like something out of The Godfather.

 

“You’re still here.” Stiles states and Deaton gives Sties one of his unwavering stares which translates to no shit Sherlock, what are you doing here? “It’s like almost eleven.”

 

“I don’t think any of us have been sleeping particularly well.” 

 

Stiles hums in a agreement trying not to give too much away but Deaton’s got that look about him which says he’s already worked it out.

 

“What do you have there?” Deaton asks eyes fixed on the bag Stiles dropped at his feet.

 

“Oh, this.” Stiles says glancing down, then rubbing the back of his neck when he meets Deaton’s gaze again. “I’ll tell you once I come up with a believable story.”

 

Deaton’s fingertips tap out a beat on his desk. “What are you doing, Stiles?”

 

He’s about to run into a situation he has no knowledge about with a foe who has been visiting him in his dreams completely unarmed just because said foe has something that is the only chance they have in actually coming out of this whole supernatural thing alive apparently and oh did he mention the odds of survival didn’t look good.

 

“Something stupid.” Stiles whispers instead.

 

Deaton looks at him for long time and Stiles isn’t sure what for. Eventually sighs grabbing his keys. “I’ll drive you.”

 

Stiles smiles he’s going to miss this.

 

It’s sort of now that Stiles has his “I’m in deep shit” epiphany and not the kind of one where all your choices and screw-ups have lead to this point. It’s more of this was the plan all along and you had absolutely not choice in that kind of epiphany. It makes him a bit depressed at first and then when he gets over the self-pity session it makes him really fucking angry. Man, does he want to slay some demon ass right about now.      

 

They sit in a side street, the vineyard just ahead looking gothic and spooky like every meet up does.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Deaton says giving Stiles an out.

 

But Stiles could never run out like that and it’s not because of destiny or because he’s the slayer, it’s because he’s not the kind of person who could turn his back on something when he has the power to stop it. He supposes that’s what got him and Derek in the end.

 

“No,” Stiles says weakly but he goes to open the car door.  

 

“I suppose you’re not being influenced by any recent personal development that’s making you act so rashly.” Deaton says as Stiles leans over the car door.

 

“You know we too well.”

 

“Some would see that as a bad thing.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes but smiles anyway and would like to think that Deaton gives something close to a smile. “I’ll be here for you,” Deaton says “when you’re done.”

 

“Thanks but,” Stiles shrugs “they way Scott was talking sounded like you’re needed, maybe for something other than, watching, looking or even seeing.”

 

Deaton gives the closest expression to a scowl without actually changing his face from pensive it’s more of a I’m-not-amused glare.

 

“The Watchers have been known for things other than they’re observation skills, Stiles.”

 

“If you say so.” Stiles fires back with a grin.   

 

They’re comfortably quiet for a moment Stiles is breathing in and out deep preparing himself. He doesn’t think he can say anything else to Deaton it would sound too close to a goodbye.

 

“Stiles,” Deaton says just as he’s working up the guts to leave. “I’m proud of you.”

 

So not what Stiles needs to keep it altogether and if Deaton knew the things Stiles done he wouldn’t have the same opinion but instead he just rolls with it. “Well I am awesome.” But the words sound weak to his own ears.

 

He gives Deaton ~~one last~~ a salute like a private to his captain, following them in to battle except this time it’s just Stiles and it’s sort of like every thought and fear that he had about being alone has come true, he’s going to fight alone, live or die alone. Now is the time to find out which he supposes.

 

 

-

 

 

It would be so easy for Stiles to go for the stealthy entrance use the element of surprise to get the advantage. But Stiles can be really fucking stupid sometimes. So he kicks the double door off it’s hinges because he can.   

 

Caleb in all his glory is just the same as his dream projection (Inception!) self, still with the priest outfit, the tussled hair and the weird charm that he has going on. He holds a glass of wine red wine that suspiciously or purposely looks like blood.  

 

Caleb raises an eyebrow, smirk gracing his lips and Stiles swears he’s going to internally combust if he sees one more smirk. “It was open.” Caleb drawls his accent not off a bit.

 

Stiles shrugs, “I like making entrances.” He admits.

 

Caleb holds the glass up to the light swirling it and Stiles’s watches as the liquid catches the light. Stiles hand’s are on his hips and he’s tempted to start tapping his foot because he knows what is coming next, it is what every cliché villain does in every movie and it seems to also occur in real life.

 

“You know,” Caleb starts with a southern twang to his words “I was always more of a red wine drinker and not just because of the story of the Last Supper and the blood of Christ being turned into riche red wine.”

 

Stiles is only half listening, currently he’s glancing around the dark room with it’s low celling, intricate passage ways and littered with wine barrels.

 

“It’s smoother, darker, like blood; I always wondered what the Christ’s blood tasted like,” Caleb continues his eyes fixed on Stiles. “I do wonder if yours lives up to all those stories.”

 

Stiles crosses his arms in slayer pose. “Can we skip the evil origins story? I kind of have somewhere to be.”  

 

Caleb let’s the glass slips through his fingers and Stiles’s eyes follow it till it shatters in shards of glass and splatters of red.

 

“You young things these days have no respect for your elders.” Caleb says and it’s the first time that Stiles sees something further from the cockiness and closer to something like irritation or anger.

 

“And how much older are you that me exactly?”

 

Caleb cocks his head to the side anger passed but not hidden. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

Stiles gives a wide grin. “Good so you’re not human means I don’t need to hold back when kicking your ass.”

 

Caleb gives a snarl his face suddenly changing back to anger in a second like a complete pyscho. “I’m going to enjoy snapping your neck again.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes begins a slow saunter towards Caleb, getting real close just to show how unafraid he is. “I’m getting real tired of people telling me I’m going to die.” Stiles says with a click of his tongue stepping back giving Caleb a come-hither sign like something out a Jackie Chan movie.  “So c’mon preacher-man, let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

Caleb smirks then he moves striking like a cobra. Instead of meeting Stiles’s shoulder he snatches at thin air as Stiles dances out his reach. He gives a few more swipes and Stiles dodges better than Neo out of the Matrix. It’s obvious that Caleb has brute strength on his side but Stiles has got heightened senses, superhuman reflexes and he can jump and flip heights that Caleb can’t react fast enough, so he basically goes fucking ninja on his ass.

 

Just as Caleb throws himself at Stiles boxing him into a corner, Stiles sees an opening doing a front tuck through the space and running off to where he has more room. He hears a smash and glances to see Caleb angry shoving a barrel out of his way.    

 

“So where’s the fancy do-dat at?” Stiles asks as Caleb attempts to catch up, Stiles jumps on to the barrels staked up high purposely knocking a few loose. “I’m going to find it sooner or later.”

 

“Not if I have my way, you won’t.” Caleb growls only seeing the barrels too late, he attempts to throw himself over them instead ends up splayed on the floor foot caught in broken wood and wine. Stiles’s stifles a laugh and Caleb must hear it because the next thing he knows he hears a roar from Caleb as he gets to his feet shoving some more barrels like that’s going help anything.

 

“You little whore!” He snarls.

 

Now that’s just uncalled for and Stiles turns with a biting retort on his lips only to see it. A trap door secreted under some of the barrels Caleb had conveniently knocked over.      

 

“Well fuck you, Father Ned.” Stiles says dodging past him throwing himself through the trap door which slams shut behind him. He didn’t exactly think through the landing process and ends up awkwardly sprawled on the floor.

 

He seems to have landed in some under ground room, Stiles glances around taking in the pillars and the odd carvings on the wall it looks more like a monastery than a winery cellar. It’s when his eyes catch one particularly large boulder in the center of the room that he sees it.

 

It’s sort of a lord of the rings moment, his eyes are completely hypnotized by it, it’s weak but there is pull Stiles feels to it that has nothing to with the fact that it’s shiny.

 

The head of it is a viciously shaped axe like something out of those old tribal drawings he once saw in history class. The edge is rimmed in silver and perfectly shaped for decapitating, there’s a space between the blade and the handle that can be used to grip at any angle. The rest of the handle is longer than any axe Stiles has seen but not long enough to be counted as a spear. The grip is bound in leather and the hand-guard juts out in shape angles joining the end of the weapon with a sharp wooden stake.  The fact that it’s a fire red colour only makes it more badass.

 

The [scythe](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v254/maragirl/Buffy720_780.jpg) – he decides to dub it – drawls him closer and Stiles is completely captivated by it. He reaches out a hand for the leather grip, fingertips pressing lightly against it.

 

Some kind of electrical hum buzzes through his fingertips right through every part of him. It’s not an overwhelming feeling, too be honest it’s not much but he can sense something. It feels like it’s his, it makes him feel strong.

 

“Congratulations,” says a voice behind him and Stiles turns to see Caleb making his way down the steps, his posture is stiff for the first time his smugness looks put on to cover up the uneasiness in his eyes. “You found it but I’m not impressed cause the question now little boy is can you prize from solid rock before I come over there—“

 

Stiles grips the scythe by the handle giving a firm pull. The weapon gives no protest and Stiles may as well be King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone. Stiles’s runs his fingertips over the blade in awe while Caleb face clearly communicates _I’m fucked_. “Damn.” He laughs lightly.

 

“Now,” Caleb says slowly as if speaking to some small animal not wanting to spook it “why don’t you hand that over before you yourself hurt.”

 

Stiles glances up “Yeah?” Punctuating it with a twirl of the scythe, which gives a high hum as it soars through the air, catching it with his other hand. “I think I can handle it.”

 

“You think this’ll stop me from breaking you’re pretty little neck?” Caleb says trying his best to let confidence take over. “I’m going to destroy you.”

 

“So you’re not on a mission from god?”

 

“I serve something much powerful than any god, a higher power.”

 

Stiles raises an eyebrow, “so you’re just some higher power’s bitch then?”

 

Caleb gives a growl, “Why you little—”

 

Stiles swings the scythe back like a club aiming for Caleb’s face but the man grabs it by the handle between Stiles’s hold using his off balance stance and his own height to his advantage pushing Stiles down on one knee. The punch that Caleb throw directly at Stiles face should be enough to shatter Stiles’s skull and turn his facial bones into crumbs but Slayer’s wouldn’t be worth much if they could be injured that easily and have a high pain management.

 

Stiles still grunts with the pain and the effort though as Caleb gets his third punch in. Stiles’s twists the scythe so Caleb looses his grip and Stiles is up again kicking Caleb hard in abdomen that has him stumbling back, then using the long handle of the scythe to thrust up into Caleb’s face.

 

This time when Stiles goes for another swing Caleb is able to duck and Stiles stumbles his back to Caleb as the man strikes for another attack. Stiles’s gives a swing but it’s inaccurate and sloppy and Caleb grabs the scythe easily twisting it so Stiles’s arms are tangled.

 

Stiles attempts to kick Caleb his back pressing against one of the pillars and Caleb cocks his fist back and Stiles ducks just before Caleb’s fist comes into contact with the stone several times, breaking through it and making it crumble.

 

Stiles shoves Caleb back and the man laughs a sort of high manic giggle and Stiles moves away from the corner Caleb has him trapped in. “You’re different from the others,” he says wagging a finger like Stiles is a disobedient child “and not just because you have a ding a ling,” he laughs “feistier for sure, I can tell you won’t scream as easy.”

 

Stiles spins building up momentum for a swing only to have Caleb block him once again. This time when Caleb catches the Scythe it is high above Stiles’s head leaving his center open and Caleb shoves him hard enough for Stiles to crash into the wall behind him. He bites down on his tongue to stop from crying out and giving Caleb the pleasure of hearing it as his back comes into contact with hard stone. The scythe drops from his hand with a clang as Stiles falls face first on the cold, hard floor.

 

Caleb paces looking at his handy work then kicks Stiles in the face the superhuman force behind it is enough to once again shove a slight disorientated Stiles back into mid air, back against the wall. Caleb follows using one hand to hold Stiles against the wall digging into his bruised ribs and punching him in the stomach with his other hand then letting him fall flat on his face again.     

 

Stiles looks up blinking in an attempted to get rid of the white dots beginning to appear in his vision in time for Caleb to kick him in the face again and this time he does let out a little moan of pain well most because of _ow._ The blow has Stiles twisting to be on his back and he watches as Caleb picks up _his_ scythe and that is all kinds of not cool. Fighting through the pain as always Stiles is on his feet kicking Caleb hard in the center and the scythe is thrown up. Stiles catching it mid-air with both hands, gives Caleb another hard kick in his abdomen then one to his side causing the man to fall rolling on his back.

 

Stiles grips the scythe thrusting the end of the wooden stake part down aimed at Caleb’s heart, the priest is no vampire but this will do.

 

Caleb catches the stake before it can stab him gripping it tight and Stiles grunts attempting to push it further down but Caleb grinning like a manic is too strong. He suddenly shoves it the side causing Stiles to loose grip on the scythe and tumble to the ground.

 

Caleb really likes kicking Stiles in the face because he does it for a third time and Stiles silently promises it will be his last. Caleb get a tight grip of Stiles’s hair, punching him again, dragging him back up for a second time the force knocking Stiles back down.

 

Stiles stands up and gives an off balance and sloppy attempt at a blow and Caleb catches his arm holding it there and punching Stiles hard in the face a few times obviously enjoying himself and when Stiles crumples on the stone floor for a what feels like the hundredth time he’s tempted not to get up again.

 

He’s really feeling it now, the pain and exertion from fighting. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or because he’s been doing this for so long but no part of him feel like this is the end, there’s no thought of oh my god I’m going to die, maybe that’s what kills them, a slayer overconfidence is their weakness.

 

“That’s the problem with you slayers,” Caleb laments as Stiles rises slowly to his feet, “your pride, your stubbornness to be alone. That’s why you’re always dying so young, the chain of command stops with you, there’s no one left to save you.” Caleb smiles blowing the dust from his knuckles. “And you don’t want to be saved.”

 

Stiles throws himself forward but Caleb manages to grab him by the seams of his denim jacket throwing him on top of some sort of tomb in the corner. Stiles lashes out kicking Caleb when he approaches. Caleb grabs him again as he tries to get up lifting Stiles as if he weights nothing, flinging him into one of the pillars with a crunch. Stiles cries out at the feeling of more bruises forming on the bruise already there.

 

He looks up to see Caleb standing over him scythe in hand twirling it dramatically. “Ah sweet irony.” He says as he prepares to stab Stiles with the stake.     

 

Stiles’s life doesn’t flash before his eyes like it’s suppose to, hell he doesn’t even have any thoughts to string together in his head to call his last. There’s only instinct, no planned out move like how Deaton sells it. No werewolf senses like Derek or Scott. There is only Stiles.

 

He stomps on Caleb’s shin, causing his aim to go off, just barely grazing Stiles’s cheek as it’s thrust down. Using both feet Stiles’s kicks out shoving Caleb back grabbing his scythe as he goes.

 

Stiles suddenly feels a new release of strength course through him. What the hell does Caleb know or Peter or Deaton, none of them can understand they’re not the slayer. No one will ever understand. Thank god he’s a hot (if he’s not how the hell did he attract Derek?) dude with superpowers.

 

This time when Caleb ducks Stiles’s swing, he’s spinning and trying for another. Caleb grabs the scythe luckily using the other side to hit Stiles in the stomach not the shape blade that would end in Stiles being gutted like a fish.

 

Stiles moves back to the wall as Caleb grasps the scythe close closing one eye as if he was aiming a bullet. He runs forward attempting to stake him again. Stiles turns at the last second and the stake of the scythe gets jammed in-between the stone tiles.  

 

Stiles grabs onto the handle kneeing Caleb viscously in the stomach, tugging the scythe free.   

 

Caleb moves back into the center of the room and Stiles follows swing the scythe high so Caleb is forced to duck. Stiles swings the scythe diagonally down his body, crouching low and meeting Caleb as the man rises. Caleb arm cocked for another swing at Stiles leaving his side open allowing Stiles to move fast and fluidly. The scythe gives a high sing as it moves embedding in Caleb’s side. Stiles pulls it sharply towards himself leaving a long, deep red slice.

 

Stiles pants as Caleb glances down comically slow and almost does a double take. He gives a little giggle eyes on Stiles, to his horror Stiles watches as the inky black colour of Caleb’s pupil expands till it covers his whole eyeball, thick black like blood that Stiles is all too familiar with leaks out of Caleb’s eyes like tears.  

 

Caleb grabs something that looks like a giant vase using it to hit Stiles in the face. Stiles rolls back still keeping a firm grip on the scythe. Caleb’s movements are slower and more sluggish thanks to the wound that should have killed.

 

Stiles is completely baffled. “How many times do I have to kill you Reverend Moose?” 

 

Caleb throws the vase at Stiles but it misses him completely. Maybe he’s mad at being compared to a character from Footloose.

 

Caleb manages to intercept the scythe mid swing striking out with more punches and Stiles has never been more thankful for slayer superpowers because his face should look like shit. He catches Stiles off balance lifting him right up till Stiles is pressing into the low ceiling, before letting him drop to the floor like something out of a wrestling match.

 

He picks Stiles up hands wrapped around his neck and doesn’t this feel familiar. “You’re just a scared little boy.” Caleb growls.

 

Stiles does not appreciate this, no he decides he’s not going to die today at the hands of this asshole. He shoves Caleb underneath his grip making him loose his grasp on Stiles neck, Stiles grabs the scythe from the floor, butterfly kicking Caleb in the face one foot hitting him after the other, the force and pain is enough to send Caleb flying onto his stomach.

 

Caleb rises face blackened, clothes ripped and stomach bloody, “Stupid boy, you won’t ever stop us.”

 

Stiles twirls the scythe back and forth in a figure of eight ready to hit Caleb where he’ll never guess.

 

“You don’t have the power—“

 

Swing the scythe back Stiles launches the sharp blade of the weapon right between Caleb’s legs where his balls are located. [“Who does nowadays?”](http://anothersalvagemission.tumblr.com/post/56284013121/you-dont-have-the-power-who-does) Stiles says before pulling the axe sharply up and splitting Caleb in half, literally, it’s kind of disgusting.

 

It’s now that Stiles brain in a way to fend off exhaustion decides to let two and a half men puns pop into his head and he laughs morbidly at them, the kind of laugh you give when you think of something funny at the really wrong time like let’s say a funeral, Stiles thinks his head hates him sometimes.

 

Stiles would love to stand there and take in his victory but that is not his life. He does however glance down at Caleb’s halves and then back at his new shiny toy. “Piece of cake.”

 

Sometime between realizing that he has no ride back to Beacon Hills and being lost in swing his scythe like a manic, Stiles notices that his phone has been vibrating in his pocket for the last hour. Checking it he realizes he has like forty-six voicemail messages and sixty-three text messages from Scott.

 

And only one from Derek.

 

_Stop being an asshole and come and help us._

Stiles cracks his first real smile in weeks. It’s then that his phone starts buzzing frantically and Stiles answers it.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Comes Scott’s loud and angry voice and Stiles has never been happier to hear it.

 

“Oh you know I had a thing.” Stiles says wincing at loud background noise.

 

“How’s your little werewolf battle going?” Stiles coos.

 

Scott growls down the receiver obviously taking lessons from Derek. “Stiles.”

 

Stiles is all I though so, “Do you need me to come down there and rescue you from pending doom?”

 

“Well since there are _vampires_ it would be nice to have a _vampire_ slayer.”

 

So the alpha pack are teaming up with vampires or at least paying them in blood, interesting.

 

“While you’re at it,” Scott says suddenly sounding nervous “You wouldn’t mind fighting a giant werewolf?”

 

Stiles sighs, “Seriously I can’t leave you guys alone.”

 

“Whatever,” Scott says gruffly and Stiles is preparing to hang up and jack Caleb’s old Landover because well he’s not going to need it.

 

“Hey Stiles,” Scott says before he can go “bring a sword or something.”

 

Stiles gaze goes back to the fiery red scythe in his hand humming and ready for more battle. Stiles smirks because it is so on.

 

“I’ve got something better.”  

 

 

-

 

 

Something Stiles really doesn’t get is the whole forces of evil living in shit holes thing, Derek did it for a while to and Stiles sees the loft as a major improvement because he refused to have sex in an abandoned tunnel or a burnt house.

 

The Alpha pack decided to choose the old sewer works as their showdown and Stiles is really happy he decided to not wear baggy flare jeans, as this would end up with the hem being covered in shit something he’d need to explain to his dad. For once he wants a cool showdown place like Thunderdome or the coliseum where Stiles can kick ass and quote gladiator.

 

A pack of vamps dressed like the cast of Grease are giving hell, Stiles can spot Isaac, Cora and Boyd, attempting to use their claws as stakes and Allison is hidden somewhere on high shooting off arrows and Stiles winces, a bow and arrow isn’t too good with vampire’s when you only have a heart to aim for, luckily Deaton has crossbow of his own and is not a bad shot.      

 

Deucalion is standing in an optimum position for seeing all, right in the center on a pedestal but enough cover so Allison and Deaton can’t get a clear shot.

 

It’s like looking down at a giant bowl where all the old tunnels eventually lead to, Stiles stays up high in his lookout post so as to survey the rest of the situation. Peter and Scott are currently have a wail of a time with the alpha twins (Stiles really doesn’t care about learning to tell the two apart) who must have separated to spill more blood.

 

As for Derek he’s cat fighting with Kali who is still pissed about Derek killing her boyfriend but the gives her no excuse to beat up on Stiles’s, his ex boyfriend that is but it’s still about principle though in most cases Stiles is meant to want Derek either dead or in insufferable pain, but he can take Derek’s humiliation of being saved by Stiles.

 

Stiles is done waiting for his moment and decides to get his hands dirty he flips down from his perch, pulling his body into a full twist he lands on the ground feeling like Jet Li. It’s the splash of his heavy combat boots coming into contact with the puddles of crap that catches everyone’s attention, see not stealthy.

 

Stiles isn’t actually on face-to-face terms with any of the members of Alpha pack only the twins through school. So in turn they have no idea who Stiles is and that is just terribly unlucky for them.

 

“Is this your call for Cavalry, Derek?” Deucalion drawls amused and Stiles sees Derek scowl from the headlock Kali has him in before flipping back in a successful escape from her hold. “How disappointing.”  

 

The vampires however for the first time in the history of Stiles doing this job are actually the smart ones in the room backing away warily clearly recognizing Stiles. He revokes the statement when a few of the punk ass ones who are clearly new to the fanged club step up for a fight.

 

The first one goes down with a swift stroke of the scythe giving his new weapon it’s vampire christening the next ducks startled and Stiles spins the scythe round his body moving with it grabbing hold of the handle near the blade coming back round to successful slash the vampires throat with such force the head bobs, spraying blood before turning to dust. The next runs into the stake side, which Stiles conveniently places in its path.

 

A female vampire with a Rizzo hairstyle and jacket jumps in next and Stiles hits her with the non-blade side of the scythe send her tumbling to the ground, straddling his legs before she can get up, stake positioned directly over her heart.

 

“Get your friends,” Stiles says voice chirpy “you’ve got five seconds to get out before I turn you all to dust and tell them to run because once I’m done with this nonsense I am coming after all of you.”

 

When he moves away and she skedaddles with the remaining members of the T-birds with her.

 

“Go help Derek,” Stiles barks at Boyd and Cora.

 

“What do we do?” Isaac says nervousness bleeding into his tone as Stiles glances around.

 

“Get Allison and Deaton out of here.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Isaac asks.

 

Stiles smirks up at him but Isaac doesn’t share in the reassurance that Stiles Stilniski smirks are a good thing. “I’m going to get us some leverage.”

 

Stiles only has a second to see Isaac’s frown before he’s running off in the direction of Peter, Scott and the twins. Peter’s is currently getting pummeled but Stiles can’t bring himself to care when Scott is in the line of fire as well. The two are having enough difficulty with one twin so Stiles decides to take ‘thing two’ who is currently about to pounce on an unsuspecting Scott.

 

Stiles probably shouldn’t have voiced his plan with a battle cry because the next thing he knows thing two is looking at him, all red eyes, claws and fangs. 

 

Stiles dodges a lethal claw swipe stabbing the twin in the arm with the stake. Thing two hardly notices the pain but Stiles does get a roar from him when he gives a particularly hard kick to him right in belly. Using the topside of the scythe Stiles hits the twin hard just at the bottom of his neck bring him to his knees. “If you move an inch,” Stiles hisses blade pressed to his throat, hand gripping his hair “I’ll cut off your head.”

 

“Hey dog soldiers!” Stiles shouts finally getting some attention.

 

“Aiden!” Thing one roars, baring his teeth at Stiles and is about to run forward to his brothers aid which is a really stupid idea just as Scott grabs him before he can do anything. Isaac must have got Allison and Deaton out safely because they are nowhere in sight.   

 

“Call off your dogs.” Stiles hisses at Deucalion.

 

Kali looks like she’s ready to put up more of a fight but at the raise of Deucalion’s hand stops. Boyd and Cora circle back towards Stiles, Derek on the other hand doesn’t move from Kali, spitting out blood, claws still out but his red eye flicker to Stiles and he gives him a nod and Stiles tries really hard not think of the last time he saw Derek because those thoughts and feelings will so not help him right now.

 

“Do you think this is wise hunter?” And the way he says _hunter_ sounds like an insult.

 

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Do you really think a hunter could have an alpha werewolf by the hair without getting their arm ripped off?” Aiden gives a jerk and Stiles presses the blade harder against his bronze skin.

 

Off to the side Ethan gives a growl struggling in Scott’s grip but Scott holds him fast with strength he shouldn’t be capable of.

 

“Then enlighten us Stiles,” Deucalion says hissing Stiles’s name. “What are you, a vampire with a soul maybe?”

 

 _Lame_ Stiles’s mind supplies. “I’m the slayer.”

 

Deucalion only just manages to hide his expression of disbelief but thanks to Stiles experience with emotional constipated werewolves he catches it.

 

“Forgive me,” Deucalion and he even sounds apologetic, _what the fuck?_ “I was under the impression you would be of a different gender.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes because this so old.

 

“What are you trying to achieve exactly?” Deucalion asks.

 

Stiles hums thinking for a moment. “Have you every seen that movie Dog Day Afternoon?”

 

Deucalion laughs the sound is unsettling and he makes his way down from his platform towards Stiles and Aiden, cane in hand. “Do you really thing you can kill him?”

 

“Well I’ve got an scythe to his throat which I just used to split a demonic serial murdering priest through the middle, I think it can handle a werewolf no problem.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.”

 

“I know what you meant.”

 

Stiles presses the blade harder drawing blood and Deucalion may be blind but he will be able to smell it. Kali gives a hiss at Deucalion’s side but he doesn’t take his attention off of Stiles. “Alright,” Deucalion says “but don’t think this is the end.”

 

“Oh my god if you say it’s only the beginning,” Stiles murmurs to himself trailing off as his eyes meet Derek’s blood red ones he no longer holds the form of the wolf and from what Stiles can see about his stance he’s injured and worry pierces Stiles like ice. “Till next time Derek.” Deucalion’s voice rings out Derek breaks his stare.

 

The exchange between them doesn’t go unnoticed by Deucalion who is already rounding up the other two of his pack not before giving Stiles a calculating glance. Stiles let’s go of Aiden shoving him as far as possible into the arms of his twin. “You better watch out.” Ethan says with dark promises. Stiles just childishly blows a raspberry in his direction.

 

Deucalion and Stiles is not really sure how he does but his gaze finds Scott and he nods and it to holds his own promise and it definitely gets to Scott because he’s clenching his jaw, cracking his knuckles.

 

Stiles doesn’t move till they are gone from sight then he’s zoning in on Derek who seems to be cradling his side but still waving off the attention of Cora and Boyd, dropping the scythe at his side with a clang he goes to Derek.

 

“You’re not fine.” Stiles snaps hands pulling up Derek’s shirt ignoring the protests to reveal (hello abs how I’ve missed you) deep, bloody claw marks as courtesy of Kali no doubt. Every one looks worse for wear but no one mortally injured but Stiles supposes that’s because none of them went up against an alpha on there own. “Idiot.” Stiles says fondly forcing Derek into leaning against him so he can takes his body weight, slinging his arm over his shoulders, every nerve tingling at the pressure and yeah Stiles is pathetic.

 

“Where’s Allison?” Is the first thing Scott asks and Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Safe, her and Deaton are with Isaac, grab his other side, will you.”

 

“I’ve got their scent.” Peter says upfront leading them away and through a tunnel. Their eyes meet and Stiles looks away before he can catch Peter’s grin of bloody teeth and things Stiles should not be thinking right now.

 

“Hand me my scythe?” Stiles asks Boyd who eyes it undesirably.

 

“You get it.” Boyd says to Cora who curls her lip doing the famous Hale eye roll and passing Stiles his new baby.

 

“You’re certainly making a habit of this.” Stiles addresses Derek as the make their way back. “You should stop being so easy on everyone.”

 

Stiles must imagine the half smile that Derek cracks for once in a while showing his pearl whites not in jest or flirtation.

 

“You did good.” Derek says his head lolling onto Stiles’s shoulder.

 

“Is that a complement? Man you must have lost a lot of blood.”

 

“Shut up.” Derek grumbles not completely out of it obviously to make promises of violence.

 

“He should be fine.” Deaton says when there out, air finally fresh leaning up against Deaton’s car. “He’ll need to heal but he’s come back from worse.”

 

Stiles nods reassured.

 

“What the hell is that?” Scott shrikes near the frequency of bats. Even Derek gives a growl at that keeping himself up by the grip he has on Deaton’s car that will leave a dent, everyone else knows better than to help him.

 

Stiles glances down at the scythe in his had grinning twisting it in his hand like a baton. “Say hello to my little friend.”

 

Everyone gives a collective shudder either at the sight of the killer weapon or the lame use of the reference it’s hard to say, except Derek who is lost in La-la land and Allison who looks down right impressed and Deaton who well kind of has a Watcher nerdgasm.

 

“Incredible, may I?” Stiles would be reluctant to give up his new baby to anyone but Deaton.

 

“Incredible.” Deaton says again giving a few swings with the air of a expert fencer a skill he probably got from some English boarding school, everyone around takes a sudden step back. “It’s clearly mystical, how did you get it?” He asks handing it back to Stiles.

 

“Oh you know,” Stiles says coughing “here and there, vampires, werewolves, demonic priests, the usual stuff.”     

 

Deaton gives Stiles one of his _don’t think we are not going to talk about this later_ looks before quickly distracting the rest of the group who are beginning to look suspicious (namely Scott and Derek who is starting to become more aware) with the history of the 1408 slayer who was rumored to have fashioned her own weapons.                 

 

Stiles is too busy twirling his new fiery red scythe antagonizing the werewolves to listen to Deaton's long and boring history speech. Stiles hums in awe doing a few more over dramatic swirls, chopping and slicing at invisible figures. "Seriously though, I think I’m in love." 

 

Next to him Derek growls irritably.

 

Stiles puts it down to the blood loss.

 

“Could you pass me his keys?” Isaac says breaking through Derek’s growl, he indicates to Cora and Boyd. “We’re going to take him back.”

 

Stiles nods looking for Derek’s leather jacket but realizing he isn’t wearing one, so that must mean, oh man. Isaac suddenly becomes very interested in the starless sky so misses Stiles’s death glare. He tries to make it nonchalant but honestly reaching into your ex-boyfriend’s back pocket is the furthest thing from it. Also the fact that this is the closest he’s been to Derek in a long time just makes it even worse. Derek’s breath tickles his cheek as Stiles blatantly avoids his gaze. Derek of course has a smirk on his face even when Stiles pulls the keys roughly from his pocket.

 

“Not a word.” He hisses at Derek throwing the keys at Isaac.

 

“You were the one to make the pass.” Derek slurs, still in pain, well good.

 

Stiles opens his mouth to retort them abruptly snaps it shut because anything he say will sound like he’s flirting with Derek. He reminds himself to tease Derek about swooning like a damsel in distress later when he’s isn’t injured and back to his grouchy self.

 

“We’ll make sure he’s okay.” Isaac says with a reassuring smile giving a wave to Scott who’s making his way to his bike with Allison. 

 

Listening to the rev of the Camaro, Stiles approaches Scott he looks tired for the first time in a while maybe Stiles needs to realize he’s not the only one going through some stuff.

 

“Hey thanks dude.” Scott says obviously not going for the whole down on his knees bowing to Stiles Wayne’s World style.

 

Stiles smiles at his best friend nevertheless. “Anytime man you know that.”

 

Scott eyes the scythe nervously. “Yeah I’d hug you but I don’t want to touch you when you’re holding that thing.”

 

“Ah it’s not that bad.”

 

“It really is, like the shinning meets Van Helsing.”

 

Please Stiles is more badass than Van Helsing hands down. “So you mean awesome.”

 

Scott shakes his head. “It’s kind of making my wolf crazy seeing you hold that thing.”

 

Huh, Stiles glances down at the scythe. Scott slaps Stiles on the arm anyway which he can tell was sort of hard for him making his way back to Allison and his bike and Stiles can only think how awkward that’s going to be for the two of them unless they’re doing a secret dating thing again, Stiles is cool with that as long as he doesn’t have to play messenger again.

 

“Stiles,” a voice says and Stiles turns around to see a worse for ware Peter who is officially the last person Stiles wants to see ever. “We should—“

 

“Nope.” Stiles interrupts before Peter can say the words barging past him with a rough shoulder shove that send spark that Stiles will ignore and for the rest of his life, ever and ever amen.

 

“Let’s go.” Stiles says to Deaton buckling up and gripping his scythe as the car starts instead concentrating on that hum of strength and mine. It’s enough of a distraction for now.

 

 

-

 

 

There is one dream in particular that Stiles can’t remember not having, ever since he was a boy. It’s always in the dessert somewhere at night, crickets all around and the sky cloudless so you can see all the stars, the moon full and bright, a wolf howling in the distance.

 

It’s the same girl from his other dreams, dark hair and skin. She never says anything it’s not till now in this particular dream that she speaks to him when he feels truly alone.

 

Instead of a rasp her voice is melodic and so peaceful that Stiles could sink into it. “Death is your gift.” She tells him.

 

“What?” Stiles asks his voice swallowed by the dessert.

 

“Death is your gift.” She repeats.

 

 _Don’t riddles always turn out to be so helpful_ Stiles thinks bitterly.

 

 

-

 

 

“You did good tonight Stiles.” Deaton says as Stiles leans over the car door. The scythe sits in the passenger seat Deaton wants to study it further to see what value it has in the current battle they’re fighting. Stiles badly wants to have it back in his hand to be reminded of the the strength he has when holding it.

 

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Stiles says honestly.

 

Deaton can see it, that Stiles is lost has been for while now and it’s not just all some cause of built up teen angst. “I know it hard sometimes,” he starts and when he pauses Stiles looks up into the eyes of the man who is his mentor and guide, the person he can be completely honest with, someone who Stiles should talk to. “Sometimes we need to rise above that which we think we can’t.”

 

Like rising above his relationship with Derek so as to work together, put behind him all he’s been going through forgive and forget. Stiles needs to let go, he doesn’t want to but he needs to.

 

“I thought I was going to die today,” Stiles say honestly “I still think,” he stops.

 

Deaton sighs. “I don’t know what to tell you Stiles, the things you have to deal with are far beyond anything else of someone you’re age. I can only tell you to keep fighting, as mundane and over used as it sounds. Keep fighting and know that you are not alone in this.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says softly.

 

“I know it’s been hard for you… with Derek.” Deaton says slowly watching Stiles reaction carefully so as not to offend. “As I understand ice-cream of some kind is required in situations like this.”

 

Stiles smiles, “I don’t know slaying a demonic priest was just as good as Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough.”

 

That must be Deaton’s first ever smile on record. 

 

Deaton doesn’t drive off till Stiles has closed the door behind him. He enters to a blackout house; all is dark except the front room alight with colorful flickering pictures from the TV.

 

“Hey.” He greets his dad softly who sitting down watching a late night of TV guilty pleasure. The two of them have a soft spot for musicals. This one in particular already has Stiles cracking.

 

“Thought you would be at Scott’s?” His dad says as Stiles dumps his jacket on the couch toeing off his boots so he can curl up beside him.

 

“Allison turned up.” Stiles hates how easily the lies falls off his tongue.

 

“Oh, I though they were…” His dad’s voice trails off with a frown

 

Stiles shrugs curling himself up on the couch, cuddling into his dad something he hasn’t done since after mum died. It’s nice just the two of them for once, no vampires, werewolves or town murders. His dad had sort been in denial about the whole dating Derek situation and because he’s the best father on earth had never brought it up again in till Stiles came home one day heart broken and proceeded to lock himself in his room for two weeks listening to his dad’s old Barry Manilow tapes.

 

Later when Stiles vacated his room his dad gave him a one armed hug and offered to get his shotgun before proceeding to make them pancakes.    

 

His dad must be extremely confused about this show of affection because then he’s asking Stiles; “Do you want hot cup of coco?” like Stiles is ten again.

 

Stiles shakes his head resting his head on his dad’s fleece watching the black and white of the movie, listening to the soft voice of Alice Faye; _sleep tight, my love, goodnight, my love, remember that you're mine sweetheart_ and Stiles can feel himself loose grip and the heartbreaking truth is he doesn’t want to let go. He feels wet on his cheeks as it all suddenly everything from the passed several weeks comes down on him 

 

His dad must notice because he’s asking; “You okay?”

 

For the first time Stiles let’s himself answer honestly.

 

“No,” Stiles says tiredly with a sigh burying his face deeper into his dad’s fleece their faces bathed in the light from the TV, “not really.”

 

His dad is silent in response and they both watch the flicker of the pictures on the Television and at least for now Stiles can rest easy as he listens to the soft music lulling him like a lullaby.

 

 

-

 

 

“We need to talk.”

 

Stiles roughly shoves a vampire into a tombstone, punching him in the face. “Now.” Fangs gives a pathetic swipe and Stiles grabs his arm dislocating his elbow. “Isn’t” He knees the vamp in the stomach punching him hard making him fall to his knees. “A,” His elbow coming into contact with the vampires jaw “good.” Giving another hard punch that makes the vampire see stars, “time.”

 

Peter huffs, rolling his eyes from where he’s leisurely lounging against the wall of an old cemetery tomb. “When would be a good time?”

 

He grabs the stake stuffed in his back pocket, staking the vamp to dust. “Never.”

 

He promptly puts as much distance between Peter and himself looping back through the graveyard at a leisurely pace seeing if he can spy any other vampires rising. Peter obviously can’t get the hint because he runs after Stiles skidding in front of him helpfully blocking Stiles’s way.

 

“Get out of my way.” Stiles snaps.

 

“No,” Peter answers “we kissed Stiles.”

 

Stiles cringes just thinking about it. “So,” he attempts to be nonchalant.

 

“You kissed me first, in fact not bad I must say.”

 

“You’re disgusting.”

 

“Really,” Peter says with a dirty smirk and his tone surly “is that what you were thinking while you were rubbing up against me and moaning like a bitch in heat?”

 

Stiles shoves Peter hard enough to have him stumbling but Stiles wants nothing more than to make quite certain that staking a werewolf (multiple times) doesn’t actually kill them. “I was going through some stuff and you were conveniently there that was all it was but know this the only time I will ever touch you is when I’m punching in your skull.”

 

Peter chuckles and it makes Stiles so angry. “That’s more like it, you’re starting to sound more like the other night.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

Still it gets no reaction out of Peter no matter how much hate Stiles channels into it. “You don’t need me so worry about me telling Derek,” he says smirking at Stiles flinch at the mention of Derek, “I don’t think he’d particularly like me after jumping his honey.”       

 

“There will be no jumping,” Stiles shouts “no jumping, of any kind, no prancing, no leaping – nothing.”

 

“You say that now,” Peter says getting into Stiles’s personal space and Stiles attempts to move away “but then the next time you need someone to run to you’ll find yourself back here.” Something about his expression seems oddly seductive like he’s drawing Stiles in. “Because I know you better than anyone else.”

 

“No,” Stiles snaps at him breaking from the spell “no okay, the only person that knows me is me okay?”

 

Peter moves in close no matter how much distance Stiles tries to put between them. “You say that but I know how you really what it just how you slay rough, hard and painful.”

 

That earns Peter a punch hard enough to land him of the ground, nose bloody and broken. “Stay away from me.” Stiles spits “and I swear to god if you tell anyone about this I don’t care how important you think you are in all this I will kill you.”

 

Peter’s smile is all blood and Stiles stomps off for once calling it an early night. But still as Stiles disappears into the night he hears Peter’s hateful voice call “till next time slayer.”

 

Climbing back through his bedroom window Stiles manages to make it back before midnight which is a record for him, usually he’s returning at the early hours of the morning either from an all night slay or returning from his second. His room is shrouded in darkness; he couldn’t afford to leave a light on because his father would see it when he walked passed in the hall.

 

Stiles’s gives a deep heaving sigh, he really needs to deal with this Peter thing because ignoring it is obviously not helping him. Peter is slimy bastard that will no doubt use it against Stiles when the time is right and he hates to think what Peter will manipulate him in to doing just to keep silent. He says he won’t tell Derek but Stiles doesn’t believe him for a second.     

 

Stiles tries hard not think of that kiss and practically full-on groping session they had, it still makes something unsettle in his stomach. It’s different he tells himself, because it’s not about a need to be with someone, it’s lust at it’s darkest form, it’s Stiles using Peter to fill a void of some many things. Derek won’t be able to look at him if he found out.

 

Something in the shadows of Stiles’s room moves, Stiles doesn’t let himself show that he noticed, instead moves to his desk. His weapons are still packed away in the bag stashed in his wardrobe so it’s not like he can open a drawer and reach for a knife, he grabs the next best thing, which just so happens to be a pencil.

 

When the shadows move again, Stiles makes his move grabbing a handful of material and pushing the figure against the wall pressing his arm just on the neck to hold them there, pencil raised like a dagger. Stiles will happily stab them in the eye with the pencil if they are a threat, but it’s a friendly this is going to be a bit embarrassing.  

 

A hand whips out to clasp his wrist of the hand holding the pencil up high, stopping Stiles from stabbing it into the perpetrator’s jugular. 

 

Olive green eyes meet chocolate brown and for a moment Stiles is frozen in place, then he realizes he’s pressing almost every bit of his body into his ex-boyfriend which will no doubt end in an awkward hard-on he moves out of range fast pulling his free, ignoring the feel of Derek’s thumb lightly caressing his rapid pulse.

 

Derek gives a cough at finally being allowed to breath again looking at Stiles with both amusement and slight annoyance. “A pencil?”

 

Stiles blushes chucking the deadly weapon away. “Had to get creative,” he stands awkwardly in the center of his room trying to ignore the last memory of Derek being here. “What are doing here?” He asks quickly before Derek’s frown results in him asking the question of why did Stiles have to get creative in the first place when he has a chest full of weapons and then some because that would most certainly result in a furious Derek, Stiles is quite ready to talk about anything yet.

 

Derek opens his mouth but Stiles cuts him off. ”If you say to check up on you I swear to god Derek.”

 

Derek just glances around going to sit on his bed and it’s a visional Stiles really can’t handle right now. Stiles keeps his distance preferring to stand than sit because that would mean him universal inviting Derek to stay and chat, he crosses his arms in his I’m the slayer and not-amused way and Derek of course meets him with I’m the alpha and don’t have time for this shit face.

 

When Derek doesn’t say anything Stiles sighs giving up on the silence because it’s the worst with Derek. “Did you come here to thank me for saving your ass yesterday?”

 

Stiles nearly misses the small stiff jerk of Derek’s head which translates as a nod. “Okay great, you’re done you can go now.”

 

“Why were you out tonight?” Derek demands instead ignoring Stiles spluttering’s.

 

For one awful second Stiles thinks Derek knows something, that maybe Peter opened his big mouth after all, but Stiles sees no fury in Derek’s gaze only irritation.

 

“None of your business,” Stiles says and when Derek looks ready to argue Stiles interrupts, “and we’re not dating anymore so I can lie to you now.”

 

Derek’s jaw clenches the muscles in his face all struggling to keep his expression neutral. Because Derek knows him so well he knows that Stiles never goes out for slays after big battles, it’s like one of Deaton’s rules, if only he knew that Stiles hasn’t just been breaking that rule but that Stiles has even been out on all of his off days. Derek’s doing that thing where he’s looking right into Stiles not in the cheesy way like romance movies imply it but the way that Stiles feels like every bit of him is being sucked out and laid bare for Derek to read, he use to love that look, it let him be open and honest and just let go. Derek and him were always so good at reading each other but now there’s this wall between them, stopping them form seeing and occasionally one will break through to see glimpses of what the other is really thinking and Stiles hates how it’s always Derek.

 

“Stop looking at me like that.” Stiles snaps.

 

Derek doesn’t stop, “like what?”

 

“You know what.”

 

Derek doesn’t move from his spot but his gaze is less intense than before.

 

Stiles moves closer nudging Derek’s foot with his in a friendly gesture. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Fine.”

 

God does Derek even notice how hard he’s making this for him. “I heard you had some help the last time.” Stiles says causal but underneath he’s going crazy but Derek doesn’t notice already stiffening uncomfortably. “I’m sure they’d be happy to do it again.”

 

“You’re not locking Beauty up in a dungeon are you?” Stiles teases it’s sounds slightly more spiteful to his ears, “and I assume she knows the chances of you turning into a handsome prince charming are slim to none.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek starts and his voice is soft for the first time maybe sincere and it’s the kind of Derek that Stiles misses seeing and it makes him feel proud that he was the one to bring that side to Derek back.

 

“You don’t need to say anything Derek.” Stiles tells him his voice gentle. He can’t find it in himself to be angry at Derek anymore especially after what he’s done is so much worse.

 

This is usually the part where Stiles says he’s happy for Derek that he’s getting some from his English teacher, that he’s happy that Derek is finding something Stiles couldn’t give him. But that would be lying, Stiles is too selfish for that and it’s a lie can’t fake.

 

“What about us?” Derek asks carefully.

 

It’s complicated and Stiles voices that with a sigh, “We put this behind us so we can work what ever is going on out, maybe try and survive the year.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Derek agrees.  

 

But it’s going to be hard, the long nights, the research, fighting along side together. There’s still something between them, a pull Stiles feels to Derek whenever he’s in the room, their gazes always meeting. Long, drawn out looks that speak a thousand words. They get each other and Stiles hopes they always will. It may sound greedy but Stiles doesn’t want that to ever go away. But he’s not so cruel as to lure Derek away from his happiness. He’s only just mean-spirited enough to make out with his uncle who murdered his sister and tried to kill a bunch of other people.

 

Derek approaches Stiles maybe communicating how thankful he is with his eyes because his gaze holds something a bit softer. His hand reaches out and for a second Stiles thinks he’s going to touch his cheek or do something cheesy like catch an eyelash.

 

Instead his fingers fix Stiles’s skewwhiff jacket collar, his fingertips lingering a bit too long on the material and Stiles can see the distasteful regard buried deep. “You don’t like it?” Stiles says throat dry as Derek drops his hand to his side.

 

“I prefer you in leather.”

 

Stiles flushes thankful for werewolves lack of night vision when it comes to colour. “I’ve got a few complements in this bad boy.”

 

Derek raises an eyebrow clearly calling Stiles bullshit saying _really?_

 

“Well you know by demons mostly and they weren’t really complements more promise of bodily harm involving the denim jacket.”

 

“There’re so similar.” Derek deadpans.

 

“Well,” Stiles says in a surely tone before he can stop himself, “I could always wear leather pants as a substitute I hear there’re essential to every slayer’s wardrobe.”

 

Derek surprisingly gives a breathless chuckle and Stiles sort of feels guilty about it.

 

“Man, this is going to suck.” Stiles whispers, Derek nods agreeing shifting his weight. Stiles wants to be able to tell Derek everything that he’s been through the last few weeks but that isn’t Derek’s place in Stiles’s life anymore and the same goes for Derek.

 

“I don’t want things to change,” Derek tells him “I still want you to call bullshit when you think I’m wrong.” _I want you to be honest with me and tell me what you think because you’re the only one who gets through,_ that’s what Stiles really hears.

 

“Okay,” Stiles agrees. He hates the role he has to play even when him and Derek were together; he’s got the rest of the world to think about and must always remain objective, he always has to choose the alternative and never Derek, while Derek is the opposite he will always for the good or the worse choose the people he cares about.

 

Stiles clears his throat, “I’ll make it a point to inform Jane Austen of the repercussions if she hurts you.”

 

He expects a sudden growl or at least a darkening of Derek’s eyes but instead Derek looks at him intently like he’s trying to work something out. “Now shoo,” Stiles says making a shooing gesture with his hands “I need my beauty sleep.”

 

Derek just looks immensely unimpressed but starts to respond when Stiles pushes him towards the window.

 

“Stiles,” Derek says the name coming softly from his lips and Stiles gives him his full attention with a paient smile. He thinks Derek’s going to say something but he just looks at him a moment more before he’s jumping from the ledge landing on the ground with a thump that Stiles prays his dad doesn’t hear.

 

Stiles doesn’t wait at the window watching Derek. He stands there letting the night air cool him taking in a deep breath before shutting his window softly.

 

 

-

 

 

Once School’s finished on Monday Stiles goes straight to Deaton’s. They’re having a day off training while Deaton looks over the scythe still and Stiles is missing it on his slays though he can’t really walk through Beacon Hills with a giant axe or he’ll end up being the talk of the town. So maybe he should invest in a violin case or something.

 

Deaton’s not expecting him but he leaves to make tea any way because after all that time with the Watcher’s council in England he’s practically British.

 

Stiles hands are sweating and he feels jittery with nervousness. It use to be like this when he was younger all the therapists were convinced he had ADHD he even got diagnosed. But when Deaton turned up and told Stiles all about him being the Slayer and his density Stiles quickly discovered it was his slayer powers that were settling. All his boredom, short attention and hyperactiveness were all symptoms of that and as Deaton stared training him and Stiles got into the swing of things he felt himself settle down.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you today.” Deaton says putting down a piping hot cup of earl grey in front of Stiles and those awesome Jammie Dodger biscuits that Deaton brings back after the occasional trip to England.

 

“I’m here for the food.” Stiles says before stuffing three jammie dodgers in his mouth.   

 

Deaton regards him with an amused demeanor which is quickly replaced by something serious. “Actually there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

 

Oh, Stiles gaze flickers down suddenly he finds all the lines on the palm of his hands very interesting. “That’s kind of why I’m here to.”

 

He’d decided last night after Derek left, since he can no longer turn to him and Scott dealing with his stuff Deaton is the last person he can count on. He wants an explanation besides the one his overactive imagination is providing him to what’s been going on with him. To why he’s going out every night, it’s not just slaying, its hunting and Stiles wants to know why he’s addicted to the intense feeling all of a sudden.

 

He wants know why he was so willing to walk into Caleb’s trap when he knows not all the reasons are as selfless as they seem.

 

“You go first.” Deaton says.

 

“No, it’s better if you do.” Stiles insists. 

 

Deaton takes a deep breath, “This isn’t easy for me to say,” he starts “but you need to know the truth as to why, why Derek left you.”

 

Stiles stiffens in shock not expecting this at all.

 

“He came to me, telling me of his concerns that he was stopping you from fulfilling what you need to do, I agreed that he was a liability his presence in you’re life is a risk to the decisions you need to make as the slayer.”   

 

Stiles just gapes at him for a couple seconds. “Excuse me?”

 

“You’ve always running head first into situations Stiles without reviewing you’re options. You need to learn that people are expendable in the grand scheme of things, you need to learn not to sacrifice yourself in the place others.”

 

The bitter laugh bursts out of Stiles before he can stop it. “I’m sorry I’m having a bit of difficulty getting this,” his tone turning hard as stone. “You think I should let these things kill _my_ friends, go against my very principles just so I can make my move when it best suits. I am expendable Deaton.”

 

Stiles doesn’t realize he’s on his feet till he notices Deaton is no longer leaning over his desk but looking Stiles in the eye. “You are not expendable Stiles, we need you.”

 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

 

Deaton’s gaze doesn’t flinch from Stiles. “Derek knew the relationship he wanted was never possible between you two, I allowed him to see the bigger picture and I am trying to that for you Stiles.”

 

Stiles takes a deep breath which sounds too much like a sob, he fights back the tears stinging his eyelids, he refuses to cry in front of Deaton – if at all. “You’ve destroyed my only chance of happiness.”

 

“I cannot begin to express how sorry I am for that.” And goddamn it Stiles hates hearing the sincerity in his voice and on his face because it’s true but he’s too angry to acknowledge it. He grabs his jacket, firmly set upon never returning here.

 

As he goes out he gives Deaton on last look and for the first time he sees how torn he is. “Why don’t you just stick to you’re job description.” He says before walking out the door for the last time.

 

He’s not so sure how long he drives around for and when he gets home he barely pays attention to his dad everything is just full to the brim with anger that Stiles can’t get vent and he knows this time he won’t be rid of through slaying. Once his dad goes out again Stiles makes the decision grabbing the keys to his jeep and heading out.

 

He goes to the last place he should against all his better judgments he goes to the one person he should not. It’s all built up and Stiles just for one fucking second wants to be completely and utterly selfish, he doesn’t care about the consequences of his actions because that’s all he does.   

 

The place is empty at first and Stiles doesn’t know if he should expect others if anyone at all, it’s just one person he’s looking for. Stiles hears the padding of bare feet on the floor and turns round to see a figure towel drying their hair.

 

Peter Hale is currently standing in nothing but a loose pair of baggy jeans and Stiles openly ogles his chest, it’s not as impressive as Derek or Danny’s but Stiles can make do since he’s mostly all impressive arms and slender body structure.

 

“Well,” Peter says with a smirk on his face “back for another interrogation.”

 

Stiles is on him before he can crack another condescending comment, shoving him against the wall of his apartment. Peter is staring at him with an intense gaze, which Stiles is very familiar with. Holding him firmly by the shoulders, Stiles kisses him, it’s hard and demanding and Stiles bites down hard on Peter’s lower lip.

 

He get a reaction instantly, Peter twisting them round so Stiles is the one pressed against the wall, Stiles lets it happen winding his arms round Peter’s neck, biting his lip when Peter presses their bodies together. “I thought I disgusted you?” Peter taunts with a smirk.

 

“Shut up.” Stiles snaps but it comes out as an oddly strangled gasp as Peter presses himself further forwards. Stiles can feel his arousal sparking he wants nothing more than for Peter to fuck him against this wall.

 

Peter pulls Stiles to him, kissing all viscous and sharp, making Stiles pant every time he needs to take a breath, dragging Peter back into another all-consuming kiss. Peter lifts Stiles up in an instant, pressing him against the wall and forcing him to wrap his legs around Peter’s waist. Stiles moaning when the angle is just perfect, a hand finding its way to Peter’s hair.

 

Peter’s lips move from Stiles’s mouth licking and biting at his jaw moving down his neck and Stiles can’t help the gasps that come at the feel of teeth. Stiles grips one of Peter’s arm hard enough to break and crumble bone, Stiles wants leave his own marks, bruises that he can leave with his strength that the werewolf will take time to heal from.

 

Stiles’s gasps as Peter’s tongue lavers right over the juncture of his neck where his pulse is, right where his skin is most sensitive. Stiles wants it, he wants to feel the pain and pleasure that come with that bite. “I want you.” He gasps out to Peter and the next second he’s biting hard at Stiles neck and Stiles is crying out with _pleasurepainsoyes._

 

It’s then that Stiles gets lost in want, no longer is their a coherent thought left in his mind, it’s all shut off and he ventures to the point of no return.

 

Simply: he’s fucked.      

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and at this length it is easy to see my grammar is truly atrocious if anyone is willing to be my beta on this series do drop me a line I'm on tumblr now or just to say hello or if you have any ideas and I'll try to work out how to reply. A lot of Buffy concepts and lines have been used in this fic (have fun spotting where each is from) the villain character Caleb is played by the lovely Nathan Fillon in BtvS and the whole fight between him and Stiles was inspired by Buffy and Caleb's. Your kudos and comments as always are loved.
> 
> My Tumblr -- http://anothersalvagemission.tumblr.com


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